


Ka lā hiki ola

by slice_of_fiction



Category: Moana (2016)
Genre: Action & Romance, Aftermath of Violence, Also rating is mostly for language, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bittersweet Ending, Blood and Violence, Childhood Trauma, Descendants of Moana, Drug Abuse, Drug Use, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Romance, Explicit Language, F/M, Family, Fluff and Humor, Gun Violence, Hey where's Tamatoa?, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Lalotai (Disney), Mild Sexual Content, Murder, Plot Twists, Sibling Bonding, Slow Burn, Smol children beware, Suicide Attempt, dark themes, i dont wanna get in trouble, more tags, plz do not read if you arent old enough
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-12
Updated: 2018-10-20
Packaged: 2018-10-30 05:50:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 21
Words: 74,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10870407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slice_of_fiction/pseuds/slice_of_fiction
Summary: Ka lā hiki ola.- Translates to "the dawning of a new day." The value of optimism, hope and promise."Maybe this trip will be good for me. Help guide me on my path to…wherever it is I’m going in life.Or maybe it won’t. Maybe the whole trip will just be me, surrounded by a bunch of men and women digging up ancient artifacts like toys in a sandbox, narrating the way they squabble to one another about their “miraculous findings.” Maybe I’ll return home feeling even shittier about myself than before.Who can say, really?"McKenna Wolford didn't go looking for trouble. Trouble came looking for her. In the shape of a large, brawny, outrageously attractive Demi-God wielding a fish hook. Life can become one big mess if you're not careful.





	1. Bet

**Author's Note:**

> So, hello there! This is my first story on archive...just a lil something I thought I'd do for fun. I'm not really sure what else to say sooo. Yeah. Hope you guys enjoy it!
> 
> (I do not yet have a posting schedule, but I will aim for a new chapter every one-two weeks. This is gonna be a fairly long journey, so strap yourselves in and pray we don't crash.)

Elaine is going to win the bet.

I think this to myself as I white-knuckle the rails of the cruise ship. Matt’s stew from last night is _not_ sitting well in my belly today. If I lose, I’m going to punch him. And then barf all over his stupid hand-knitted sweater vest.

The ship crests over another wave, and the violent up-down motion nearly does me in. I lean over the rail, but an image of Elaine’s smug grin pops to my mind.

God. _I want to_ win.

Swallowing my pride – and last night’s dinner – I pull away from the rails and slump down into one of the chairs on the deck.

In the chair to my right, Corinne chuckles.

“You Wolford’s take bets _way_ too seriously,” she says. I groan in response and lower my head between my knees. “What is it this time? An Egyptian necklace? A multi-million-dollar dress from the eighteen-forties? Or…twenty bucks, maybe?”

I shake my head.

“Okay, then. What?”

“ _A car_.”

Corinne snorts. “Wow. A car. Fascinating.”

Oh, but it’s not just _any_ car. It’s a 1957 Plymouth Savoy. Mint green. A dying breed - one of the last of its kind. Elaine’s husband somehow managed to weasel the car out from under one of his grandfathers’ old business partners. Gave the car to Elaine on the night of their honeymoon. I fell in love with it the minute I laid eyes on it. Haven’t stopped begging Elaine since.

Our bet is simple: if I can go the entire trip from California to Hawaii without barfing once, the car is all mine.

And I’m _this_ close to winning.

Fuckin’ Matt.

I open my mouth to tell Corinne all of this. The ship hits another powerful wave, and my stomach leaps up into my throat. I slap my hands over my mouth and flail my legs. Corinne removes her sunglasses to make her eye rolling visible.

“No offense, but that’s the stupidest thing you two have bet on. Your father is rich. Have him buy you your own car.”

I can’t just ask my father to buy me one, and for a multitude of reasons. The main two being that 1) I am, for all intents and purposes, on “offspring probation” and thus cannot leave Elaine's house, and 2) I’ve already named the Plymouth. His name is Vinny, an homage to my favorite movie _My Cousin Vinny_. ~~God bless Joe Pesci.~~

Again, I would tell Corinne all of this if I weren’t fighting the urge to upchuck all over the deck. Instead, I glare icily at her. She gives me a quick up-and-down, shrugs, and slips her sunglasses up the bridge of her nose.

“Whatever.”

We fall into a somewhat comfortable silence. The one thing – perhaps the _only_ thing – I like about Corinne is that she never breaks her neck to try and fill the silence, unlike _some_ one else we both know. And she’s never afraid to call anyone out on their bullshit. Now that, I can appreciate.

I recline in my chair, grip the armrests tight, and close my eyes. The sun’s rays are powerful today. Brutal. Two minutes in and I’m already drenched thoroughly in sweat. But it feels nice. A lot better than the chilly, frigid days we’ve been having in Milwaukee. You'd think with spring coming to an end and summer rearing its head that the cold would go away, but _nooo_. You'd be wrong.

I’m not sure how long we lay like this. Long enough for my stomach to settle, and for my body to release all of the tension I’ve been feeling these past few days.

Offspring probation…I still can’t believe my father said that to my face. It’s absolutely ridiculous. So, okay. You make one stupid mistake when you’re nineteen – a rookie mistake at that – and suddenly _everything_ you’ve worked so hard to achieve is taken away from you? As “punishment”? I don’t think so.

Taking your daughter out of college and dragging her halfway around the world so you can “keep an eye on her” does not constitute as punishment: it’s morally and seriously _wrong_.

I can’t say that I’m not enjoying it, though. With my grades, I probably wouldn’t have been able to get into medical school anyway. Hell, I’d barely qualify for a _janitor_ at a local emergency center. I’m still super pissed at my dad, but…but maybe this trip will be good for me. Help guide me on my path to…wherever it is I’m going in life.

Or maybe it won’t. Maybe the whole trip will just be me, surrounded by a bunch of men and women digging up ancient artifacts like toys in a sandbox, narrating the way they squabble to one another about their “miraculous findings.” Maybe I’ll return to Milwaukee feeling even shittier about myself than before.

Who can say, really?

“McKenna! Corinne!” A nasally squeal shouts from the other side of the deck. Corinne and I both snap forward at the sound. The suddenness of her movements causes her sunglasses to slip down her nose.

A sandy-haired girl, yea high and sporting rainbow tights and gold bangles, jogs toward us. She waves one arm high in the air.

“We’re here,” she says once she reaches us. “We’ve reached Hawaii.”

“Hallelujah,” Corinne gripes. She grabs her romper off the back of the chair next to her and stands. “The sooner I get off this ship, and away from you, the better…nice tights, by the way.”

The girl – Rayne – blushes bright red and poses. “Aw! Thank you so much, Corinne! That’s so—”

“As if you needed another reason to look like a child,” Corinne says while shimmying into her romper. “A word of advice: stay away from the Captain. There’s a rumor going around he’s a pedophile, and he's got a thing for rainbow tights.”

Rayne blusters, jaw hanging wide open. Corinne winks at her and sashays toward the bow of the ship.

I sigh. “She’s just teasing you, Rayne. He’s not a pedophile.” At least I don’t think he is… “Anyway,” I say, rising slowly off my chair. I open my mouth to continue. The boat shudders, and before I can get a good grip on the chair, it rises high and plops back down as it sails over the Mother of all waves.

The dizziness and nausea crash down over my shoulders. I throw myself at the rails of the ship, ignoring Rayne’s piggish squeal of disgust as I empty my stomach into the ocean.

 _Dammit_. I wipe my quivering bottom lip. _I lost_.

 ~~~~~~~

“Looks like the car is going to be mine for another day!”

This is the first thing Elaine says to me once we're off the plane, and in truth, I'm not at all surprised.

She twirls the key to the Plymouth around her index finger. Arms crossed, lower lip jutted, I do my best to avoid looking her in the eye. She jingles the key next to my ear again and leans in real close. So close that her chin digs into my shoulder.

“And _you_ get to shoulder all of mine and Richard's chores for the next three months,” she says. “Yay!”

“Oh, blow it out your ears,” I say. “You weren’t even there. So you don’t actually know if I threw up or not.”

“I didn’t have to be there. Rayne told me about it on the plane.”

My head whips to the side, where Rayne stands next to baggage claim. She fidgets with the bangles on her wrist as she waits. She must sense the sweltering rays of fury I’m shooting at her, because she lifts her chin and looks directly at us. A wide smile overtakes her lips, and she raises both arms to wave. Beside me, Elaine waggles her fingers.

“I’m going to kill her.”

“But she’s so nice.”

Still waving, Rayne turns back to the belt displaying peoples’ luggage. Her arms halt in mid-air. She shrieks, drawing the eyes of everyone around her. In front of whatever-God-or-gods-you-believe-in and everybody, she _leaps onto the conveyor belt_. I shit you not. It’s almost comical, the way she lunges over the mountains of luggage to grab the rainbow suitcase about to disappear through the hole in the wall.

I scoff. “She’s an idiot.”

Elaine chuckles.

Together, we stand at the edge of a second conveyor belt, waiting for our own bags to show up. Hers comes first: large, filled to the brim, bursting at the seams – a Louis Vuitton suitcase, imported straight from Paris. It takes the both of us and a complete stranger to lug the damn thing off the belt.

Mine comes next, sticking out like a sore thumb amongst the monochromatic blacks and grays and whites surrounding it. It’s a medium-sized Bohemian weekender bag, intricately designed and covered in fifty shades of pink and green. Unlike Elaine, I bought my bag off of Etsy.

I hitch the strap over my shoulder and pat the pocket on the side. The book is still there, as I knew it would be. That doesn’t stop me from heaving a sigh of relief.

Everyone is waiting for us at the front doors leading out of the Faleolo Airport. It’s a relatively small place – in fact, it’s one of the smallest airports I have ever been in to date. There’s no denying it’s beauty, though. Still, it's nothing compared to the Honolulu Airport in Hawaii; they have an _offshore runway_. Makes you feel like a bird gliding over the ocean during take-off. 

Rayne, stuck to Corinne’s shoulder like Velcro, spots us coming and flails an arm toward the rest of the group, which consists of:

My father, Henri James Wolford II, and his partner-in-crime Dominic Wyman. The two met when they were in college, and have been working together ever since. They currently work as anthropologists* at the Milwaukee Public Museum**. My father deals with the more historical side of things. You know, reading documents, studying the different places he visits, interviewing the natives – seeing, reading, hearing, but not touching. Whereas Dominic is more of the physical type: if he cannot hold it in his hands, there’s no point in pursuing it.

Working for them as field technicians are Rayne Jacoby and Abdul Wright. Rayne is only seventeen, but her parents were hard-core archaeologists. There’s a rumor going around the museum that she was born while her parents were working on a dig somewhere in Africa. I wouldn't discredit the rumor as being totally bogus. And Abdul is in his early thirties. He told me once that he used to want to be a Radiologist. His family couldn’t pay for it, and as a last-ditch effort he took up archaeology – and he came to love it way more than he thought he would. He’s roughly the size of a barge (ha), dark-skinned, and crazy friendly. But he's deathly afraid of chickens. Don’t ask me why. Don’t ask _him_ why, either, because he’ll just get mad and sulk for the next two hours.

Corinne Rice is a lab director. Based on what I know - and what I know isn't much - lab directors don’t normally travel to the sites artifacts are being pulled from. Corinne has her own way of doing things. Something about seeing the artifact when it’s “fresh” and hasn’t been touched in centuries really gives her a thrill. Or so she says. ( _Gross_.)

Aaaand then there’s Matthias Aldridge, otherwise known as Matt (or Fuckin’ Matt, in my case). He's the son of one of the museums facilitators. He's also a chef and I honestly cannot fathom why. Don’t get me wrong, he’s a great cook. (Sometimes). Has a lot of potential. But his nerves get the better of him a lot, and he has a sort of tic that causes his neck to lock up and his arms to flail. It’s a wonder he hasn’t chopped off a finger yet while cutting onions.

Oh, and there’s Richard, Dominic’s son. He’s not an archaeologist - he paints. Like me (but not like me), he’s just tagging along. I think he came hoping to spend some alone time with his _newlywed_. Too bad for him: Elaine is just as passionate about historical gunk as our father is. Any romantic bonding between the two will most likely be Elaine excitedly holding up a pebble, and him nodding along with a faux smile plastered on his face.

“It’s about time you showed up,” Corinne says to us once we've joined the group.

Dad steps forward. “Girls, I’d like to introduce you to Kamala and her daughter, Lani.” He gestures toward the two new faces I hadn’t noticed before.

They’re both caramel-skinned, dark-haired and gorgeous. The older woman, Kamala, has her hair in a bun atop her head, and is wearing a sleeveless powder-blue dress with Hibiscus flowers printed all over it. Her daughter, Lani, is toying with one of her outrageously long strands of hair. She’s wearing pretty much the exact same dress as her mother, just in teal. Both of them are wearing the exact same black sandals. 

Dad says, “They are going to be our guides for today. Tomorrow, they're going to take us to Motunui.”

“ _Talofa lava_ , and welcome to Apia,” Kamala says, bowing her head slightly. Her smile is wide and blinding. “We are honored to be your guides. You have all had a long day of traveling; you must be very tired. Come. We will take you to the hotel you will be staying in.”

Rayne’s arm shoots up into the air. Kamala blinks in surprise.

“Yes?”

“What does that mean? Ta…talofa…talofa lava?”

“It is a Samoan greeting meaning ‘hello to you.’”

“Ooh.” Rayne rummages through her carry-on and procures a palm-sized notepad. The cover is glittery all over, and there’s an overweight unicorn riding on a cloud. (You think I’m making all this up. Believe me, this girl is _suffocating_.) She mumbles under her breath as she pencils in the words and their meaning in big, sloppy letters.

Elaine whispers in my ear, “ _Cray-zee_ ,” and starts forward in time with the now-moving group. I hook my fingers underneath the strap of my bag and follow, leaving Rayne to bask in the weirdness that is her life all on her own. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit* [November 29, 2017]  
> I don’t know why it took me so long to change this. I meant to say “anthropologists” the first time around. Sorry for this. (Lul.)
> 
> Edit No.2* [January 14, 2018]  
> Starting today, I have gone through my story (from chapter one, onward) and fixed any typos, errors, paragraph breaks, and reworded only a few things to make it flow just a tad bit nicer. Other than that, nothing major, plot-wise or other, has been changed. (I'm sorry; I blame this on the perfectionist inside me.)
> 
> Edit No.3** [October 23, 2018]  
> This should be "Milwaukee Public Museum." Not sure how I confused the two.


	2. Milky Way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter for you lovelies ^_^

Outside, the air is warm, humid, and sans copious amounts of sea salt. Tourists and natives alike buzz about like hyperactive bees. Literally _every_ one is smiling. Even stoic-as-a-stone Corinne is grinning: it's tight-lipped, but it counts. I force a shy smile on my face, out of fear that someone we pass might be offended by my scowl and slap it right off of me. 

Kamala and Lani lead us toward a white stretch limousine. A tall man with dark skin lifts a hand in greeting and opens the door. We pile in - Rayne pauses in front of the door and utters a chipper " _Talofa lava_!" to the man - and once Kamala and Lani are inside, the man closes the door and rushes back to the front of the limo. We're peeling out of the airport lot well before I've even put on my seat-belt. 

"So. Kamala." My father clicks his pen - the one his grandfather gave him - and leans forward in his seat. "Could you tell us a little bit about Samoa?"

The dark-haired woman smiles. "Of course. The island of Samoa was founded in seventeen twenty-two, by a Dutch explorer named Jacob Roggeveen..." 

Kamala delves into Samoan history, but it's super boring and not worth mentioning...no offense.

To my right, Elaine and Richard are rubbing noses and exchanging cutesy words of love and affection. Yuck. 

To my left sits Abdul, looking just as bored and uncomfortable as I am. Rayne is trying to strike a conversation with Corinne, but that's the equivalent of chatting up a brick wall.

I refuse to look at Matt; I'm still pissed at him. 

I ease my headphones out of my carry-on bag and sneak a peek toward my father. He's been watching me like a hawk lately, noticing every movement I make, every out-of-place detail. Right now, he's captivated by Kamala, sharing with him the history of her island home in a refined manner. His hand works at moving the ink tip of his pen along the paper. He's been doing this for so many years, he doesn't even have to look at the paper anymore. 

I tell you, I've never seen another mans' eyes twinkle as much as his are in this very moment. It sort of reminds me of the way he used to look at...

 _Stop it_. 

My thumb rubs over the muff of my headphones. It's bad enough that my father forced me to come with them on this stupid archaeology field trip. The last thing I want to do is spend my first day in a new and (somewhat) exotic place bummed out. 

"Incredible. We've been here for less than thirty minutes, and I can already see it in your eyes: you're bored out of your mind."

The voice belongs to Dominic. He leans across the aisle of the limo.

"Don't worry, kiddo," he says. "I am, too." 

"I...I'm not bored." Wow. When you say it in _that_ tone of voice...could've convinced me. 

"Ah, hush. I'm the last person you need to be lyin' to." Did I mention that Dominic is British? Because he is so, _so_ British. "Your father...it's easy for him to get transported away to another world. You and me? Not so much. People like us need a bit of excitement."

"I'm guessing Samoan history isn't exciting enough for you, huh, _Mini_?"

Dominic's cheeks flush at the nickname. He rubs the tip of his nose and chuckles nervously. "Now, where in the world did you hear that?"

"Your _brilliant_ son." We both glance over at Richard. He now has his sketch book on his lap, and is drawing a quick side profile of Elaine. The guy has remarkable talent; he could make straight lines look breath-taking. "I overheard him talking with Dad about you on the cruise. And for the sake of yours and my fathers' friendship, I'm going to kindly ask that you don't offer an explanation." 

He smiles. "I wasn't going to."

I grin. 

Rayne shoots up her hand, knocking her knuckles hard against the roof of the limo. Kamala must have just finished her spiel about Samoa. 

"I have a question!" Rayne says. "About Motunui: is it true that the island of Motunui was one of the first islands to ever form on the face of the earth?"

Dad's fingers stiffen. His glasses do one of those anime flash-y things. Slowly, he cranks his head toward Kamala, eyes hungry.

The word "Motunui" has always been my father's kryptonite, his Achilles' Heel. Even when I was little, it was all he ever talked about. He used to tell me stories about the voyagers who lived there, and of the goddess who formed the island herself: Tutti Frutti, or whatever her name was. For years, I believed in the magical quality that surrounded Motunui as well.

Then I stumbled into college, and reality plowed me like a garbage truck. 

"I...unfortunately, I cannot give you an accurate answer." Kamala shrugs her shoulders. Her daughter, whom has kept her head down since we met at the airport, lifts her chin and stares at Rayne. Contemplating. "We are, shall you say, distributors. We deliver supplies to the island, but have never stepped foot on the island itself. The natives are a very...skittish..." Her words trail. Lani is now staring at her with furrowed brows and pursed lips. 

An unwavering silence floods the limo. Dominic and my father exchange a look. 

"What my mother means to say," Lani says, "is that _we_ do not know much about the history of Motunui; we know just as much about the island as you do. It is a sacred place."

"Well, do you know anything about the goddess, Te Fiti?"

Oh. _That's_ her name. Whoops.

"I-"

"Sorry." Lani interrupts her mother. "Again, we know only as much about Te Fiti as you do, and that is that she is a goddess in mythology credited for creating life on this planet. Any further questions about Te Fiti or Motunui will have to wait until tomorrow."

"Excuse me." Dominic wags his hand in Lani's direction. "When was the last time a foreigner set foot on Motunui?"

Lani studies him a moment. In a low voice, she says, "It has been almost a full century."

"Fascinating!" My father scribbles down this information in his journal. "Did they perhaps leave behind some form of documentation recounting their experience?"

"More importantly, did they leave behind anything pertaining to the whereabouts of Te Fiti's Heart?"

Ah, Dominic. Always asking the heavy questions.

All eyes fall on Kamala and Lani. Kamala's face instantly drains of color, and she begins fidgeting with the folds of her dress. A tautness overtakes Lani's face. She bunches her fingers into fists so tight her caramel knuckles turn a pasty white. 

" _You are not worthy of such information_ ," she hisses. 

"Lani!" Kamala's voice hardens, and Lani rolls her eyes and slumps into her seat. "I apologize for her rudeness, Mr. Wyman." Dominic waves his hand dismissively, but I know that it really bothered him: the muscle in his jaw is twitching. "The Heart of Te Fiti was debunked as a myth decades ago. Any further knowledge of it has been withheld by the people of Motunui. But if _you_ know about it..." Kamala trails off again, and this time it isn't because of her daughter. She's lost in thought, rubbing her chin in that cliché, pondering manner. 

My father lowers his journal and asks Kamala to finish the rest of her sentence, but I've already checked out. 

I plop my headphones on my ears, blare some good ol-fashioned Arctic Monkeys, and daydream about what it would be like to listen to this kind of music while driving a mint green, 1957 Plymouth Savoy. 

~~~

After showing us around Apia for a bit, the limousine drops us off at our hotel. Kamala and Lani help us unload our things before bidding us adieu and returning to the limo. Apparently the two own a condo next to the harbor. I mean, it makes sense. They run supplies to Motunui all the time in a _speed boat_. 

Room numbers are assigned. Keys are passed out. And all hell breaks loose. 

We're reduced to children, racing around the lobby and latching onto one another's arms. Claiming them as our roommates for the night. Instinctively, I reach out to grab Elaine - and catch nothing but air. Her stupid husband has already claimed her. She sends me a semi-apologetic look. 

Then she pats the pocket of her purse where the keys to the Plymouth are hidden. 

I flip her the bird. 

"I call dibs on McKenna!" 

Wait, what?

A pair of arms lock around my throat, just shy of strangling me. Bangles stab into the side of my neck. I blanche at the realization. 

"What?" I ask, perturbed. Or whatever fancy word you want to use to define "scared shitless." I glance back at Rayne's beaming face, then carry my gaze toward Corinne. The look I give her...think of a starving puppy that has just been kicked, spat on, and publicly humiliated.

Yep. That's my expression. 

Corinne shrugs her shoulders. Jiggles her key. "She's all yours," she tells Rayne. "It's my turn to have a room to myself anyway."

"Hey, that ain't fair!" Abdul says. "This is the first mission you've joined us on in, what...two years? If anyone deserves a room to themselves, it's me." He swipes at the key in her grasp. One withering scowl from Corinne and he backs off instantly. "O-or, you know, I guess it wouldn't hurt...you know, just this one time...I'll...room with Matty Boy." 

Matt grimaces. "Please don't call me that."

"Oh, this'll be so fun!" Rayne hops up and down, meanwhile tugging on my neck. "We'll rent a few bad movies, stay up until dawn, eat junk food until we puke, play a whole bunch of games...do you happen to have a deck of cards on you?" 

I open my mouth to tell her to fuck off. 

"Ah, it doesn't matter. We can craft some temporary cards made out of paper. Oh, I'm so excited."

 _It's not worth it_ , a voice within me chides. And I hate to admit it, but it's right. 

I purse my lips, swallow my growl, and slip out of her grasp. 

We exit the foyer and take the stairs up to the second floor. Our rooms are toward the middle-end of the building, and once we reach them, we break off into pairs: my father and Dominic; Elaine and her stupid husband; me and Rayne; Matt and Abdul; and Corinne. I stick the key in the lock, twist, and push open the door. 

Our room...is awesome. The ceiling is low, and the walls are crème-colored with the black outline of a frangipani painted behind the bed. 

My eyes widen. 

There's only. One. Bed. 

 _Great_. 

The bed is white with floral-printed coverlets and green pillows. There's a desk and rolling chair pinched in the left corner of the room, and a green armchair positioned in the right. A plasma screen TV is mounted on the wall above a black, knee-high entertainment center.

The bathroom rests directly to the left upon entering. Straight ahead are a pair of glass doors leading out to the balcony. 

Rayne squeals - I doubt I'll ever get used to that sound - and throws herself onto the bed. Within seconds, she's out cold.

Whatever. So long as she isn't annoying me. 

I set my bag on the other side of the bed and step toward the balcony doors. Standing this close, I'm able to see the pool, and God, is it big. It even has one of those cool Tiki bars situated toward the shallow end of the pool. The only problem is that no one is out there enjoying it. There's an old, wrinkly woman sun-bathing, but that's it. Aside from her, it's one hundred percent vacant. 

_Good thing I brought my swim suit._

"After all these years, you're still hot for teacher."

I whirl. Elaine is leaning against the door frame, smirking at me. I roll my eyes. 

"And I can't believe that after all these years, _you're_ stilling listening to Van Halen. It's twenty seventeen, sis. Pick a new favorite." 

"Are you suggesting that I start listening to that depressing, hippie crap _you_ listen to?"

"It's called Indie music, and you take that back right now."

Elaine giggles, stepping into the room. Rayne snorts in her sleep, and the sound causes Elaine to jump. She maneuvers around Rayne's legs, which are hanging off the end of the bed, and sits in the chair beside me. 

"My point still stands," she says. 

I sigh. "I _do not_ still have a crush on Dominic."

"Bullshit."

"Elaine. He's twice my age-"

"Age is but a number, my dear sister."

"-and is in the middle of a divorce with his second wife. Besides, even if I _did_ still have a crush on him, nothing could ever happen. You're married to his son. That makes us family, sort of."

Elaine makes a face. "Ew. When you put it that way..." She smiles sincerely. "Oh, would you quit pouting? I'm only teasing you." She stands. We stare out of the glass doors for a long time. Her reflection, albeit faint, loses its smile and casts a sidelong gaze at me. 

"How are you holding up?"

" _Now_ you're concerned about me?" 

"Shut up. I'm always concerned about you, and you know it."

I nervously rub the inside of my elbow. Elaine and I don't typically have those grandiose heart-to-hearts like most other siblings do. Usually, we scream and throw things at each other, ignore each other for a solid thirty minutes, and then patch things up over a tub of pistachio-flavored ice cream. Deep conversations aren't really our thing - unless we're drunk. When we're drunk, Elaine loves to talk about life and the universe; Drunk McKenna for some reason likes to cry and eat onion rings; and neither one of us remembers the things we said or did when we wake up in the morning, warding off roaring hangovers. 

The last heart-to-heart we had was when she was ten, and I was seven. And we weren't even alone to do it: we had a therapist looming over our shoulders.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there to stop you," Elaine says. I jerk my chin, stunned. Her cheeks are flaming, and she's staring at a dust bunny in the corner of the room. "You needed me the most, and where was I?" She turns her head so I can't see her. "When I got that call from...from _him_...I was mortified. I knew the second I saw his name on my phone, something was wrong. And I should have been there. Maybe if I _had_ been there, you wouldn't have..."

_Is she serious right now?_

"Are you serious right now?" I ask incredulously. 

"Look. All I'm saying is that if we had postponed the honeymoon, like we _said_ we would-" 

"Okay. Time out. Stop." I hold up both hands and make the annual "time out" motion. Rayne snorts again, and I have half a mind to take one of the green pillows and chuck it at her. "I hate to break it to you, sis, but there's nothing you could have done to prevent what happened. With or without you, I probably would have done it anyway."

Elaine cringes. "But I-"

"So don't you _dare_ try to shoulder the guilt of what happened to me. I'm glad you weren't there...to see me like that." I pause. More for the effect than anything else. "Also, you promised me you wouldn't bring him up. At all. So far you're not doing a very good job holding true to that promise."

"Yeah. Okay, you're right. Sorry." Elaine throws up her arms. A tell-tale sign indicating that she is _officially done_ with this conversation. Even though _she's_ the one who initiated it in the first place. "I'm gonna go for a swim in the pool. Wanna join?"

" _God_ , yes," I whine. "If I have to listen to another one of Rayne's weird sleep snorts, I'm going to throw myself off of the balcony."

Elaine smirks. "And I'll be there to push you off in case you decide to pussy out."

~~~

We - me, Elaine, Richard, Matt, and Abdul - spent the rest of the day lounging at the pool. 

Dad and Dominic had "archaeology stuff" to discuss in their room, and therefore refused our offer to join. We didn't see them for the rest of the evening. 

Corinne came down for about an hour, but spent the majority of her time at the bar. (No surprise there.) She ended up making a new "friend." Disappeared with him three minutes later - a new record, according to Abdul. 

The four of us swam around for a bit, splashing each other, dunking one anothers' heads underwater. We were kids again.

Elaine and I, we were _sisters_ again. 

Then Richard appeared and mucked everything up. At the sight of him, she pulled herself out of the pool and ditched us to go sunbathe with him. Eventually, they, too, returned to their room. 

After that, Abdul, Matt and I moved to the hot tub, where we talked about some of their old and most memorable archaeological digs. Abdul told me about a site in California, where they found a cluster of bones that they believed would lead to the discovery of a new species of dinosaur. Turns out, they were chicken bones. 

"Is that why you hate chickens so much?" I'd asked. 

Abdul's face darkened, and he said in a lethal voice, "I am _not_ going to talk about this with you."

When we had nothing left to say, the two of them climbed out of the hot tub. Leaving me all alone. Not that I cared, really. The company was nice, but I'd secretly been hoping that they would leave sooner or later. 

By that point, the sun had gone down. I debated going back to my hotel room, but the thought of Rayne snuggling up to me and snorting loudly into my ear made me think twice. Instead, I climbed out of the hot tub and slipped back into the pool. 

So, here I am. Floating along in the water, lit up underneath by blinding white lights. Staring up at the starry sky. 

I think about Milwaukee. How, even on the clearest of nights, it's impossible to see the stars past the pollution. I didn't know...I'd seen them on TV and in pictures. 

There are _so many_.

Clumped together, spread apart. Twinkling like firefly butts trapped on a black canvas. A group of them form a sort of cloudy scar in the dark sky, sparkling tons of colors: green, yellow, white, blue. I saw this in a picture once: it's the Milky Way. It's amazing - more than amazing. I never once imagined that I would have the opportunity to see it in person. And it makes me feel small. I'm not sure if I love or hate that. It's...unsettling at best, but in a comforting way. 

How is that even possible?

I close my eyes. Submerge my fingers and toes into the cool water. Let myself sink deeper down. My breath comes out through pursed lips, a steady stream of bubbles. 

_"Shit, McKenna. What the hell have you done?"_

_"I can't believe she did this! She's selfish - you're_ so goddamn selfish _, McKenna!"_

I open my eyes. Everything is blurry. I can no longer see the stars, only the white light glinting off the ripples of the water. I open my mouth, but there are no more bubbles to expel. My lungs are starting to ache. 

_Someone is tugging on my arm. I feel my body rise from the waist up. There's a face hovering in front of mine. It's so dark. I know who it is. I want him to leave. I open my mouth to tell him to go away. All that come out is a crackly groan._

_"She's conscious...somewhat. McKenna, what were you thinking?"_

I wasn't. I wasn't thinking at all. I barely remember anything leading up to that point. All I remember is waking up in the hospital, tubes down my throat, and a nurse with a mole on her upper lip asking me if I can hear her. 

But _he_ wasn't there. He never came. 

My heart starts to race, and I know it's time to surface. I curl into a ball, position my feet beneath me, and push. The air is cool and clean and magnificent. I suck as much of it in as I can, and allow myself a moment to grieve. My tears are hot in contrast to the cold water clinging to my cheeks. 

I remind myself once again that even though _he_ never came, the most important person in my life _did_. Of course, she slapped me as soon as we got home - "They'd throw me out if I slapped you in the hospital. Besides, it would have been insensitive at the time." - but that's not the point. 

Elaine showed up.

If it weren't for her...would I even be here right now?

"McKenna! Yoo-hoo!"

I jump. It takes me a moment to locate the voice. Up on the balcony over-looking the pool is Rayne, waving her arms. She's wearing a powder pink robe, and her hair is pulled into a bun atop her head. 

"I ordered room service," she calls out to me. "Hurry up and come on in before I eat it all! It's _sooo_ good. Especially these little bread roll thingies. They've got coconuts in them; the Samoan people really pride themselves on their coconuts, not that it's a bad thing..."

She continues to drone to me over the balcony as I wipe my face and pull myself out of the pool. I can hear her, but my mind is a million miles away. 

Lost in the cluster of stars above. 


	3. File

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> INCREDIBLY CORNY ANNOUNCEMENT!
> 
> McKenna has given me permission to access her playlist, so starting this chapter there will be a song (or two) to listen to while you read. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Song(s) for this chapter:
> 
> Heartless - Låpsley  
> Words - The Kite String Tangle

It is official: I am never, ever, under any circumstances sleeping in the same bed as Rayne Jacoby again.

 _Ever_.

Not once, but _twice_  I found myself the victim of her deadly koala grip; she kept me up for a solid hour and a half with her freakish snorts alone; and come the next morning, she'd kicked me off the bed entirely. I woke up to the sight of her laying sprawled in the center of the bed, limbs stretched and bent at awkward angles. At least _I_ got the blankets, but I digress. 

_Never again._

Rooming with her is also another big no-no that I will never allow to happen again. This girl...she hogged the bathroom _all morning_. By the time I was able to jump in there and do my business, Dad came by to say that we were leaving in fifteen minutes. I suffered through a cold, quick, and _soapless_ shower because of Rayne, threw on a pair of sweat pants and a tank top, and just barely had enough time to apply some make-up. Rayne was gone when I exited the bathroom. 

The room was a mess. Trash littered the desk and nightstand tables, and the bed hadn't been made.

I could have been the bigger person. I could have done the right thing. I could have cleaned up the room. 

I packed my things as quickly as I could and scurried out of there. 

My heart is still pounding by the time I reach the lobby. It's been eons since I last did any sort of running/jogging, let alone walked up or down a flight of stairs. I'm _exhausted_. 

Everyone is waiting for me by the receptionists' desk. Dominic is chatting her up, and she's giggling like a kid hopped up on Pixy Stix. I roll my eyes and slip the key across the desk. She reaches out and grasps it without taking her eyes off of Dominic. 

"Good morning, McKenna," my father greets. He gives me a once over and scowls. "I wish you would have dressed a bit nicer. This is a very special occasion." 

Not my fault. Rayne is a sloppy, indecent D-bag who kept me up all night and used up all the hotels' hot water. 

I want to say this. I almost do.

Instead, I say, "Oh, well." 

The vein in his forehead - when I was little, I named it Charlie, and yes, I am aware of how weird that is - appears. He steps forward, and I know I'm really in for it now, when Dominic suddenly cuffs him on the shoulder. 

"Ah, don't worry about it, Henri," he says. 

"Dominic—"

"She's a grown woman. She can wear whatever she wants to wear." Dominic's baby blues sweep over my face. He winks. My heart does one of those cart-wheel things, and I repeat the mantra over and over in my head: _I_ do not _still have a crush on Dominic Wyman_. 

Dad looks like he still has plenty he wants to say. He glances around at the members of our group. Everyone is shifting uncomfortably, picking at their nails and bouncing on the balls of their feet. To spare them from any further discomfort - and an embarrassing father-daughter lecture on proper behavior and etiquette - he keeps his mouth shut.

We breathe a collective sigh. 

" _Talofa lava_."

Abdul shrieks, grabbing Matt's shoulders. He stares wide-eyed at the forms of Kamala and Lani, who have both appeared seemingly out of no where beside him. 

I blink. When and how did they...? 

Kamala bows her head in the same manner as yesterday. She's not wearing a dress today: she's wearing a pair of shorts, showing off tan, sinewy legs (God, I'm so envious), and a pale blue blouse with fluffy-looking sleeves that stop at her elbows. 

Lani is wearing shorts, too, and a purple tank top. Her hair is pulled into a high ponytail. 

Dad holds up a hand to return the greeting.

Rayne shoves his arm down and shouts, " _Talofa lava_ , Kamala and Lani!"

Lani flinches at her intensity.

"I...yes." Kamala clears her throat. "I trust you are all well-rested and ready to depart for Motunui?" Eager nods and grunts come from all around. Impassively, I raise one of my shoulders, which Elaine promptly smacks. "Good. It will be a ten minute walk to the harbor. Please follow me."

Straight to the point. I like it. 

She turns on her heel and strides out the front doors. One by one, we gather our things off the ground and form a jagged line behind her. Lani trails at the back. 

It's blistering hot outside, and for the fleetest of moments I consider abandoning ship and heading back to the hotel - more accurately, to the pool. I would have succeeded, too, if it weren't for Richard wrapping his arm around my shoulders. 

Ugh. 

"Phew. If I'd wasted any more time, we would've lost you for good," he says, a shit-eating grin on his face. Don't get me wrong. I like Richard, I really do. Just not when he steals my sister away from me. There was an _us_ way before there was a _them_ , and call me selfish but I refuse to allow him to change that. "You could at least humor your father, you know."

"Humor him?"

"Pretend to be jazzed about this trip, McKenna. Your father has been looking forward to this for a long time. His whole life, in fact."

Dammit. I hate when other people are right. 

"First off," I huff, "no one says _jazzed_. And secondly...I'm trying."

Richard rubs the bone of my shoulder with his thumb. "He did what he thought was right," he says. I cock my head at him. "Taking you out of school. Away from those...heathens."

I frown. "You don't know what you're talking about."

I slip out of his grip. The grin he gives me is sad. 

"Trust me. I know. More than anyone else here."

I keep my eye on him as he moves up the line to walk at Elaine's side. She smiles warmly up at him. He offers to take her luggage, and she shakes her head.

It's a small act of independence, but it's enough to showcase Elaine's entire personality. She never needed anyone to take care of her because she could do things for herself. Growing up without a mother, you sort of have to. And when she wasn't taking care of herself, she was taking care of me. I couldn't do anything right without her. I was always so scared, so hesitant.

Even now, I'm still scared. But seeing her smile like this...it gives me hope. Not a lot, but enough. 

The scuffling of sandals against cement sounds to my left, and I glance down. Lani is walking in-time with me, her arms swinging at her sides. Her head is facing forward but her eyes are lifted. She's glowering at me. 

"The people of Motunui will not accept you," she says.

I'm not sure how I'm supposed to respond to that.

I settle for, "Well, maybe I'm not looking for their acceptance. Ever think of that?"

She pauses a moment to consider. She says, "Everyone is looking for acceptance from someone. You are no exception." She focuses on something ahead of us. I grab the strap of my bag and hitch it higher over my shoulder. Step a little to the right. 

Her scuffling grows louder and louder with each step. When we reach the beach - the Vaiala Beach, I remember Kamala telling us yesterday in the limo - and the cement transitions to pearly sand, I breathe a deep sigh of relief as the noise quiets. 

A plethora of natives and tourists alike are out enjoying the day, scattered along the shores of the miniature beach. Children are running about like hooligans. A medium-sized, spotted dog is racing after them, barking and wagging its tail contentedly. Mothers are holding their toddlers' hands out in the water, lifting them up when a high wave rolls in.

A ways down the road is the harbor. I take in all of the boats bobbing in the water like buoys, and the nausea from yesterday returns. 

"I read your file."

No one besides me hears this, as they continue after Kamala without delay. I pause and turn around. Lani is a good seven or eight steps behind. I've never seen so much judgement and disapproval in such young eyes. 

"Excuse me?"

"My mom said I wasn't allowed to read any of your files. I did it anyway. I read yours." She takes one step and crosses her arms. "Tell me, did you want to die?"

Although her question is vague, I know exactly what she's talking about. My blood begins to boil, rising to the surface of my cheeks. A flurry of panic-induced tingles spread outward from the center of my chest. I'm numb to the tips of my fingers. I manage to utter a somewhat firm, "That's none of your fucking business."

"The file said that you overdosed on codeine," she continues, ignoring me. My tongue swells. "They put you in rehab, but because of your behavior they were worried that you would try to do it again, so they also put you on suicide watch."

"Listen here, you loud-mouthed little runt—"

"I will ask you one more time: _did you want to die?_ "

I had no idea I'd been moving toward her until we're practically nose to nose. My back and neck hurt from hunching over so low. I'm so mad that I'm trembling, and the glare I'm giving her can only be described as venomous. Despite all this, Lani's gaze is unwavering. 

"The people of Motunui," she says, "are said to be incredibly spiritual individuals. They view life, _all_ life, as invaluable. And to them, those who are willing to waste it are unworthy of their respect."

"Shut. Up."

"And the Spirits do not look fondly on such things, either. Your father is so bent on finding the Heart of Te Fiti - the goddess who granted _life_ to _everything_ on this planet - but he will not find it. All because of _you_. The Spirits do not look down on you and smile. They look down on you—"

" _I said stop!_ "

"—and see nothing but failure and disappointment."

A bird squawks overhead, wings beating frantically as it takes to the sky. I lift my head, only to see the underbelly of a giant hawk soaring away. My arms are vibrating at my sides. The sting of my fingernails cutting into my palms is nothing compared to the sting I feel in my heart. 

I've never been this pissed off at a child before. I won't sugar-coat the fact that I absolutely _hate_ children. They're sticky, they're loud, and they're overwhelmingly obnoxious. But I've never had one piss me off _this_ _much_. And I've never wanted to hit one as badly as I want to, now. 

Child or not, Lani should know when to keep her mouth shut. 

An all too familiar voice whispers in the back of my brain, "Use your words, not your fists. They're much more effective."

Sucking in a deep breath, I say to Lani, "Te Fiti is nothing but a myth." It isn't much, but the words suck all the color out of her cheeks. "Her _Heart_ is nothing but a _rock_. These ' _Spirits_ ' you speak of don't exist. Everything you think you believe in is a goddamn lie." Lani steps back as if I've just spit molten lava at her. "You're not tough shit, kid. You're just a spoiled brat who thinks she knows everything about everyone. Well, you're wrong."

Lani's lower lip is quivering now. "T-take that back."

I'm not done yet. I square my shoulders. Open my mouth. 

The tears in her eyes stop me. 

Okay. She's...strange, that's for sure. Passionate about things pertaining to Te Fiti and the _Spirits_ and the island we're about to travel to. And yeah, she pissed me off, but am I really willing to break her down like this? Belittle her faith when I know how cruel that is? All to satiate my own aggravation?

I'm a cold and heartless person, but I'm not a monster. 

Shifting the bag on my shoulder, I whip around without another word and speed-walk to meet up with the rest of the group. They have paused a few yards down the beach, and my father is doubling back to check up on us. 

When we're within hearing range of each other, he says, "Hey. What's going—"

"Nothing. Let's go." I keep my head down and brush past him. He doesn't even try to put up any resistance. 

Elaine tries to meet me, too. One look at the expression on my face roots her in place. 

Nervously, I glance up at Kamala, expecting her to be glaring at me. I grimace, waiting for her to tell me off for treating her daughter so poorly. 

She does neither of those things: instead, she throws me off balance with her radiant smile. 

"Whatever my daughter just said," she says gently, "do not believe a word of it. She is rash and impulsive, but she means well. All she wants to do is protect Motunui's culture and its people. But sometimes, she gets a little too impassioned, and says things that she does not mean. I apologize whole-heartedly on her behalf. " 

I have to chomp down on my tongue to keep whatever I'm about to say contained. I'm not sure what it is my brain wants to retort with, but I know it's not pretty. It never is. So I say nothing. I simply nod my head once - a quick up-down - and gesture awkwardly for the group to continue. 

As we fall back in line, I cast a sidelong glance over my shoulder. Lani is moving stiffly, staring down at the tips of her painted toes.

Dejected. Emotionally gouged. I've seen that look on her face too many times to boast about. 

 _All because of me_. 

Abdul bumps my shoulder and whispers, "Hey, girl. You good? What happened back there?"

I tell him what I told my father and leave it at that. If he's offended by my coldness, he doesn't show it. Just bumps my shoulder again and smiles reassuringly. My throat tightens at the gesture. I don't deserve that. Not from someone like him. It makes me sick to my stomach. 

We reach the harbor in no time. It's bustling with people, old and young. Grandfathers and fathers are teaching their sons to fish, and seamen are either tying their boats to the docks or casting off. One boat we pass contains a man and his two dogs. At the sight of us, the smaller one rises to its feet and begins barking. The man hisses something in Samoan, and with a growl the dog sinks to its belly. 

As Kamala leads us down to the farthest dock, a young girl, perhaps eight or nine years old, rushes up to our group. I have no idea where she came from. Her small, sunken eyes scan the group. When she sees Elaine, her jaw drops. The atmosphere surrounding us plummets a few degrees as she grabs Elaine by the hand and begins murmuring. 

No, it's not quite murmuring. It's more like _praying_. Chanting, even. 

Elaine can do nothing but stand there, flustered and confused. 

An older woman, rather large and wearing an inadequate amount of clothing, suddenly reaches out and snatches up the young girls' wrist. She shouts something that none of us understand and starts dragging her away. Doesn't even apologize to Elaine for the absurdity of her daughters' actions. 

"What in the hell...?" Abdul scratches the top of his head. He glances skeptically between Elaine and I. "You two are like magnets for abnormal shit."

"What was she saying?" Elaine asks, ignoring Abdul and focusing her attention on Kamala. 

Kamala raises her shoulders, but not after a brief moment of hesitation. So brief, I'm certain that no one other than myself caught it. 

"I was unable to decipher it," Kamala says. "Forgive me."

I narrow my eyes. "Are you sure—"

" _Tina_." Lani emerges from behind me, her shoulder thumping against my elbow. Once Lani is beside her mother, she puts her hands on her hips and turns to the group. "It is time for you to choose."

Corinne makes a "pfft" sound. 

"Um..." Matt picks up his hand and takes a shy step forward. "Choose... _what_ , exactly?"

The corner of Lani's mouth upturns. Our eyes clash, and my muscles tense when she says, "Who you will be traveling to Motunui with: my mother, or me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! ^.^


	4. Everything

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> McKenna's Playlist >> Shuffle:
> 
> Overflow - Ghost Loft  
> Skinny Love - Bon Iver

Let the record show that McKenna Blaine Wolford does not back down from a challenge. 

After all, that _is_ what Lani was doing back at the harbor. She was none too subtle about it, either. 

As soon as the words were spoken, Corinne and Abdul lost their composures. Their arms wound around each other's torsos as they laughed loud, deep-bellied laughs. If I weren't waging an eyeball war with the thirteen-year-old brat, I would have felt inclined to join them. 

"P-please, tell me y-you're joking." Corinne was laughing so hard she could barely speak. She drove the pad of her thumb into her eye to stop the tears from falling. 

Abdul's nostrils flared. "You can't expect us to believe that a girl your age can _drive a boat_."

All right. So, I wouldn't have been so blunt about it. Or...maybe I would have...forget it.

Lani, without taking her eyes off of mine, smirked. In an assertive tone of voice, she said, "I guess you'll just have to find out."

I'm sure it was a combination of things: Lani's goading smirk, or her tone of voice, or her unrelenting disposition. Whatever it was, it silenced our laughing companions. 

To no one's surprise, Corinne and Abdul decided to travel with Kamala. ~~Pussies~~. Dad and Dominic also chose to travel with Kamala, which I sort of knew would be the case from the get-go. 

Whilst untying her boat from the dock, Kamala said that her boat was big enough to accommodate one more passenger. I fought the urge to snatch at the opportunity; that would entail backing down from Lani's challenge. I would be giving up. Admitting my defeat. 

That's not my way. 

In the end, it was Rayne who hopped aboard Kamala's boat. The rest of us went with Lani. 

We piled into the speed boat - Lani's was shabbier than Kamala's, which was clean and had padded seats at the bow - and Lani waited until her mother started the engine and peeled away from the docks. She then started the engine to our crappier-looking boat and trailed not too far behind. 

If you think cruise ships are bad, then you obviously haven't been in a speed boat before. These suckers fly over the water like a bullet fired from a rifle. It's a nightmare. God help you if you hit a wave. 

The first twenty or so minutes of our trip pass in relative quiet.

Matt's nerves started acting up not too long after we left the harbor, most likely due to the stress of being on _yet another boat_. He sits at the bow, arms rung around the rails, attempting (to no avail) to refrain from ticking. 

Elaine and Richard are enveloped in one another's arms, snug as two fleas on a dogs' rear end. The sight of them, combined with the jarring movements of the boat, makes me want to puke. 

Limbs rubbery, I slide out of my seat, sink to the floor, and crawl toward the back of the boat. Toward Lani. She keeps her eyes trained on the larger speed boat ahead, but acknowledges my presence with the curt dip of her head. 

We've been stewing in our grudges long enough. Honestly, I'm already over it. 

A low, agonized groan escapes me as I slump against one of the seats. Bring my knees into my chest. 

I clear my throat. "Listen, kid. I just wanted to—"

"It was ill-mannered of me to judge you," she interjects. I suck my bottom lip between my teeth. "It was also inconsiderate of me to go through your file. I...I apologize."

Huh. 

I was expecting her to scream, throw a tantrum, "This is Sparta" me over the rails and into the ocean. I didn't expect this to turn out so, how should I say... _smoothly_. 

"You don't have to...well. Yeah, no. You do." Lani rolls her dark eyes. Offers a barely-there chuckle. I continue, " _But_ , I _did_ say some pretty hurtful stuff about Te Fiti and the Spirits. So...yeah, my bad."

Maybe not _totally_ smooth...

"Apology accepted."

Shy, hesitant smiles are exchanged. Lani returns her attention to the horizon. I wrap my arms around my shins and lower my chin between my knees, feeling lighter and less burdened than I did before. 

For a total of three seconds, the only sound to be heard is the slapping of waves against metal. 

Then, an excited, "Whoa!"

Elaine shoots up to her knees on her seat, hands clenching around the rails. Richard places a hand on her lower back, in case we hit a wave and it knocks her off balance. I furrow my brows and force myself to my feet. 

"Hm? What's going...?" 

"C'mere, c'mere!" Elaine spins around and clasps my wrists in her hands. I flop down into the space between her and Richard, and instantly cling onto the rails. Droplets of salt water whip against my bare arms and face. Elaine taps my elbow and points out at the blue expanse of ocean ahead. "Look."

I do. I lift my eyes, follow the direction of her finger. There's nothing but flat, untouched ocean for miles. The sun's rays glinting off the water are bright and cornea-scorching. I shake my head and turn to Elaine. 

"I don't see any—"

Elaine squeals, smushes my face, and returns my head to its previous state. 

And I see it: a dark, gargantuan mass, breaking the surface of the water a good forty yards from the boat. It's gray all over with a white-ish/brown underbelly, and it's shaped like the head of a torpedo. Someone yelps - it's either me or Matt. Whatever-this-thing-is rolls in the air, the lower half of its body trailing behind in the water. Lani throws up a hand and shouts as a long, floppy wing-looking thing manifests on the other side of its body. It flaps about in the wind, as if it were waving hello to us. 

As expeditiously as it had appeared, it slaps down against a wave and disappears underwater. The ripple effect that comes after extends as far as our boat, and instead of trying to fight or avoid it, Lani rides it out. Quite professionally, I might add. 

"Whoa! Wh-what...what in the shit was that?" My head whips back and forth from Lani to the spot where we saw the creature. 

Turns out, he or she isn't alone: other torpedo-shaped creatures, ranging from small to equally as large as the first, are popping up all over the place. 

"Have you never seen a whale before?" Lani asks, bemused. She's beaming from ear to ear, an odd and somewhat creepy contrast to the typical brooding mask she wears. 

My cheeks flush with heat. "I-I've seen'em...on the Discovery Channel..."

"They're _huge_ ," Elaine says in awe. 

"They look like...humpbacks." Richard looks to Lani for confirmation.

She nods. 

"Are they gonna come...come near the boat?" Matt asks. 

"Probably."

Matt's skin turns a sickly shade of green. At the sight of the first whale, he'd stopped ticking, but after hearing Lani's answer he picks it back up again. His elbows lock around the rails once more in an effort to control them. 

I can't help but feel abashed; I've never dealt with this sort of thing before, so I'm not sure how I can help. Or if I even can. If Abdul were here, he'd be able to calm him down. A lot better than any of us could. 

Slowly, I crawl over Richard's lap and huff into the seat next to him. Our gazes slip and slide, in part because of his ticking, and in part because of the rocking of the boat. Any normal person would reach out to him. Rest their hand on his shoulder. Murmur words of comfort and encouragement. Make it a heart-to-heart ordeal. 

Not me. 

I grip the rails and say, "If one gets close enough, you should try petting it. Then you can tell me what it feels like; I've always wanted to know what whales feel like."

_No. No, you haven't. You just suck at comforting people._

Matt is regarding me in the same manner one regards a shaved bear. (Seriously. Have you _seen_ a shaved bear?) Just when I think I've made a complete and utter fool out of myself, he bursts out laughing. It's a shy-sounding thing, high-pitched and adorable. Not to mention contagious: I find myself giggling, albeit vaguely.

"All-all right," he says. "if one g-gets close enough, I-I'll try petting it. Just for you."

I'll be dipped. My awkwardness actually paid off: his ticking has calmed down a bit. 

I can't wait to gloat about it to Abdul later. 

Another humpback flings itself out of the water, and this time it's accompanied by a much smaller whale. A baby. We "ooh" and "aah" at the enchanting spectacle. 

Elaine coos and claps her hands excitedly. I turn my head, in time to see Richard hooking his arm around her middle and drawing her close to his side. The joy on both of their faces is brilliant and pure; I feel somewhat guilty just looking at them.

As I watch them, I think back to the spat Lani and I had little over half an hour ago, and even further still. Back to nearly four weeks ago, when my life was in the midst of falling apart. When I honestly believed that nothing mattered, and no one cared. When everything Lani said about me was true.

I had been so ready - so willing - to give up _everything_ ,just so I could feel nothing at all.

It never occurred to me at the time that _everything_ comprised of Elaine and my father; the book inside my bag; the starry night skies and the Milky Way Galaxy; the people surrounding me, no matter how annoying; and, most importantly, the heart beating in my chest. I press my palm against my left breast. Feel my heart pump, _ba-bump, ba-bump_.

At the time, I just...just wanted it all gone. All the pain. All the sadness. 

I see now that that was a stupid thing for me to want. 

This moment, right here, is so much _more_  than anything I could have ever wanted. 

I'm steadier on my feet when I rise and retake the seat beside Lani. Elaine, Richard, and Matt are preoccupied with the whales, giggling and chattering amongst themselves. Even so, I lower my voice to be safe. 

"What you asked me before - if I wanted to die...I think I did."

Lani's smile falls. One hand on the wheel, the other on the throttle, she gazes down at me and says, "I know. But that is in the past. The important thing is, you have changed your mind. Am I correct?"

I nod. The back of my throat starts to burn.

"If, for whatever reason," Lani says, " you begin to revert back to that state of mind, remember this above all else: _all life is invaluable_. Your life will _never_ be exception."

~~~

"McKenna!"

Dazedly, I jerk my head in Elaine's direction. The orange sun sits low on the water, and dusk is beginning to settle, but her eyes are shimmering with delight as she yet again points to something on the horizon. This time, it isn't a group of whales. It's...

"It's Motunui," she murmurs. "We made it." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do my best writing in the dark.


	5. Motunui

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my goodness...over 100 hits...you guys, I'm going to cry. That's awesome! Thank you so much for reading!! To be honest, I wasn't sure this story was even going to get that much recognition. I'm so emotional right now.
> 
> I was feeling so invigorated that I went ahead and wrote the next chapter. I hope you guys enjoy!
> 
> Oh, and don't worry. Maui is coming soon, I promise. Just be patient a little longer. 
> 
> McKenna's Playlist >> Shuffle:
> 
> 1966 - Moon Tides  
> Song on the Beach; Photograph - Arcade Fire  
> Up In Arms - Bright November

If you look up the word "heaven" in the dictionary, you'll find a picture of Motunui as its reference. 

Ho. My. God. 

This place is the sort of tropical island paradise other islands _wish_ they could be. I'm actually impressed that something this wonderful has managed to remain undisturbed by the rest of the outside world for so long. 

The waters in the reef are a pristine blue: peer straight down and you'll see with utmost clarity a plethora of anemones, corals, and fish of various sizes and colors. The waves, locked in low-tide, lap against the soft, sandy-colored shore. A lone dock, rickety and stained with age, stretches outward from the beach. Along the shore to the right of the dock is what appears to be a black slab of rock, and beyond that is a thick curtain of verdure - marram grass and coconut trees and palm trees and other such plants with leaves bigger than your whole head. 

You know what you won't see? Neither a single drop of oil, nor an inconsiderable piece of garbage. 

If I wasn't so keenly aware of the fact that an _entire village of people_ live here, I'd say this place was positively barren. 

The air is so fresh and smells so good that it's almost as addictive as nicotine. 

Speaking of which, it's been a while since I last had a cigarette...

Up ahead, Kamala's speed boat has already reached the dock. Dominic hops out of the boat first, stretches, and reaches out a hand to begin helping the others out. When it comes to my gawking father, he has to grip said man by his armpits and pluck him out of the boat like a two-year-old. Once Corinne, Abdul, and Rayne are helped, Dominic kneels down beside the bow of the boat and grabs at the ropes. 

Kamala holds up her hand and opens her mouth. We're too far away, and the engine of Lani's boat is too loud, but whatever Kamala says to Dominic doesn't seem to make any sense. He replies, his left brow drawn in confusion. Kamala shakes her head. Hesitantly, Dominic tosses the ropes back into the boat. 

Kamala bows her head, pulls back on the throttle, and eases the boat away from the dock. As she passes by our boat, she lifts a hand and waves a cheery goodbye.

I turn toward Lani. "Hey, where is your mom going?" 

"As my mother said yesterday," Lani says, cutting the engine and steering the boat to the edge of the dock, "we are distributors. We bring things - supplies, mostly - to the island, but have never stepped foot on the island itself."

"How come?"

She shrugs. "No real reason."

"Your mum said something about the villagers being skittish," Richard says. "What did she mean by that?"

Lani sighs. "Listen. All I can say is this: the villagers prefer the company of their own. It is extremely rare for them to seek out the company of foreigners, such as yourselves. You people do not understand how truly lucky you are."

With Richard's help, the boat is stabilized next to the dock. Matt scoops up his luggage and flops onto the dock with a quickness I've never seen in any other human being. I bend down to pick up my own luggage when Lani taps my elbow. 

" _Amuia le masina, e alu ma sau_ *."

"Huh?"

"The journey you are about to partake in is going to be fraught with many dangers. It is important that you keep a close, watchful eye on your companions."

I narrow my eyes at her. "What on earth are you talking about?"

Lani tilts her head. Gives me a long, hard look. A forlorn grin spreads across her lips. 

"Nothing. Forget I said anything." She throws her arms above her head and yawns. "Anyway, it is time for you to go. Your group is waiting for you."

"Wait—"

"Wolford, hurry your ass up." Corinne's voice splices straight through mine and Lani's strange conversation. The young girl retakes her seat behind the wheel and shoos me away with her hand. 

I chew my bottom lip, murmur a brisk, "Whatever. See ya later, kid," and exit the boat. 

The rumbling and sputtering of Lani's boat fades the further out she gets, and is replaced by two things: the soft hushing sound of waves rolling over sand, and the sound of rapid, irregular breathing. 

I can't say for certain how long we stand on this old, rickety dock, staring awkwardly at one another. We all seem to be thinking the same thing: _Well, we made it to Motunui...now what?_

Elaine holds a fist to her mouth and clears her throat. 

"WE MADE IT!" 

Dad throws up his hands and belts this at the top of his lungs. As if on cue, Rayne begins bouncing on the tips of her toes and shrieking; Abdul circles his arms around Matt's waist and raises him into the air; Richard cups the back of Elaine's head and plants a fat kiss on her mouth; Dominic pats my dad on the back, his eyes glistening; and Corinne and I watch all of this take place from the back of the group.

I lean sideways and bump her shoulder. "You aren't going to hop in and celebrate?" 

"Tch. I'll jump for joy when we find the stone." She says this nonchalantly, but at the sight of Dominic and my dad's beaming faces and dripping eyes, she grins. "Don't tell your dad," she begins, "but toward the end, I was seriously beginning to doubt we would ever make it this far."

"Bet you feel like an ass-hole for thinking that, huh?"

"Please. I've _always_ been an ass-hole."

Rayne dances toward the two of us and grabs our hands.

"Come on!" She says, and begins tugging us after her.

Normally, we would each put up a fight. But over her head, we see the rest of the group, jogging and dashing along the dock toward the beach, and decide it would be best to let her just drag us along. My father and Dominic have already made it; their luggage has been abandoned at the base of a palm tree, and the two middle-aged men are rolling up their pant legs. Dad's glasses are foggy, and his face is splotchy and wet from crying, but he's giggling like a madman. It's been so long since I last saw him smile like this. 

I grin.

For now, it won't be a matter of what to do now. Instead, we'll let the time pass and just relax for a bit. 

When we reach the beach, Abdul strips down to his, as Richard likes to put them, _knickers_ and throws himself into the ocean - and squeals like a pig, shouting over and over again, "COLD!" 

Rayne flings her bags aside and joins him, rolling her galaxy-printed leggings all the way up to her mid-thighs. They try to rope Matt into coming in, but he waves them away, finding solace in a patch of grass. 

Elaine and Richard take to pacing hand-in-hand along the edge of the shore, scanning the waters for seashells. They make a pretty decent picture, waltzing together in the orange glow of the sunlight. 

Corinne remains with her luggage underneath the tree. Dominic, ankle-deep in the water, sees her standing by her lonesome and jogs to her rescue. 

Which leaves me and my dad. He's still standing in the water, burying his toes deep into the sand. He didn't roll his pant legs high enough - the spray from the waves has soaked all the way up to the bottom of his knee-caps. His shoulders are trembling. 

I kick off my shoes and roll the bottom of my sweat-pants to my knees. I waddle into the water - _sweet baby Jesus, it is_ freezing - and take my place at my father's right side. Call it a sixth sense, but he wraps an arm around my shoulders without having to look up at me. I put aside all of my anger and frustration - none of it matters right now - and burrow into his side. He smells exactly how every father should smell: safe and warm, like after-shave and sweat - and a hint of hotel bar soap. 

"Oh, McKenna," he says. A tremor rocks his body, and his words break off into a sob. I close my eyes. Squeeze him tighter. He runs a finger through my hair. Presses and twists the ends. "If only...if only your mother were here to see this." 

My scalp prickles, and my body suddenly feels weighted down, as it usually does when we talk about mom. If I could close my ears as well, I would, but dad needs to talk. So I'll suffer through it. Just this once. 

"She loved the ocean," he continues, "more than any person I've ever known. It was always a dream of hers - her biggest dream, I think - to find a place like this and build a home right on the beach. That way, she could enjoy a cup of coffee while watching the waves roll in." Dad chuckles. "Well, I told her all about Motunui, and promised her that if I... _when_  I ever found it, I would do everything in my power to give it to her. I doubt she believed Motunui even existed. Ah, but the smile she gave me that day...you just can't forget something that warm and that beautiful. No matter how hard you try."

"Daddy..."

"I, ugh...I know I haven't been fair to you lately. Pulling you out of college like that...I want you to know, I did it all to protect you."

"I know." _Of course I know_. "I...I haven't been fair to you, either."

"Oh, hush. I've given you just about every right in the world to be pissed off at me. I deserve it." Dad moves his other hand to my cheek. He gently turns my head so I'm looking at him. Both of our eyes are watery and red from holding back the tears. "I'm so glad you're here to experience this with me, Mckenna."

Well, that does it. 

_Open the floodgates, why don't you?_

I want to tell him what I've been meaning to tell him since that first day in the hospital - "I'm so sorry, dad." - but the words are on the tip of my tongue and I can't seem to catch them. I do the next best thing: I wrap my arms around his torso and squeeze him so hard I think one of his ribs fractures. Dad reciprocates, a hand on my neck and the other around my back.

We embrace like this for the longest time; on occasion, I'll honk into the sleeve of his shirt, and he'll murmur how gross that is. Come time to part, the sun has already descended, and the moon has taken its place. It hangs like a toenail in the indigo sky, offering an insufficient amount of light. 

"Come on," Dad says in a thick, exhausted voice. "Let's—"

"YAH!"

Dad and I wheel around at Rayne's horrid scream. 

On the beach, our companions, wide-eyed and afraid, are being herded into a circle by spear-wielding, bronze-skinned men in... _skirts_. 

Were it not for the tip of the spear aimed at my sisters' throat, I would be laughing. Out loud. 

There are a total of six of these men, four of which are encircling the rest of our group; the other two are wading out into the water toward my father and I. The closest one, a lanky sort of man with a sleeve of tattoos covering his right arm and a layer of fuzz sprouting from his sunken, sun-burned cheeks, growls something in a dialect I don't recognize. It sounds Samoan, but... _not_. Harsher, maybe, but that's the best I can describe it. 

"Hold on, hold on." Dad tries to reason with them, holding up his arms. He's positioned himself in front of me. "We're the ones who were asked to come—"

The first man retorts angrily, and gestures at me. His beefier, baby-faced friend nods and moves in my direction. Dad takes a step forward, as if to intercept him. Charlie (the vein in his forehead, remember?) reappears for a second time today. The first man hisses and thrusts the spear at Dad. He isn't aiming to strike, though. It's more of a scare tactic.

It works, and Dad staggers back to avoid being impaled by the sharpened tip of the spear.

While this happens, the second man reaches out and grips my forearm.

My first instinct is to panic. Swat at his arms and scream until my throat is raw and sore. But if there's one thing I learned from my half a year in Judo - I was nine and went through a phase of wanting to be tough shit - it's to remain calm in the face of danger, and _always_ look for an alternative.

And, wouldn't you know, I'm surrounded by _salt water_.

I stoop down and cup some water in my hand. When the man jerks my arm to lift me back up, I fling the water straight into his eyes. He groans in pain and releases me. I duck under his arms, grab Dads' hand, and begin running toward the beach. But we're not going to make it - lanky dude is right on our heels, and baby-faced dude has recovered and is also charging after us. And neither one of them look even _a little bit_ happy...

" _Stop_."

My body collides with what feels like an enormous, fleshy wall. Dad brings me into his side. His gaze travels up. And up, and up...this man is a mammoth.

 _Literally_. A tattoo of what looks to be either an elephant or a mammoth covers all of his chest and part of his belly. His hair is ebony, and is pulled into a braid that reaches his lower back. He's got more facial hair than Harley Morenstein. His charcoal eyes are narrowed into a scowl that I doubt ever leaves his face. Unlike the other men on the beach, he's the only one wearing a necklace made out of shark teeth and seashells. 

Dad steadies his breathing and says, "I-I think there's been some mistake. You see, we're—"

"I know who you are," the man says. His voice is deep, and sends shivers down my spine to the tips of my toes. He glances up at the two men behind us. Mutters something in their language before returning his attention to us. "My men did not see the supply-givers with you." _Kamala and Lani_. "They assumed that you and your people were a threat. My sincerest apologies, Mr. Wolford."

"It's...it's fine." 

The man taps a hand to his chest. He says, "I am Etu."

"Henri," Dad replies, gesturing to himself. "But you probably know that. This is my daughter, McKenna."

"Ugh...'sup?" 

 _Pathetic_. 

Etu eyes me curiously before pivoting and starting toward the beach. We trudge along after him, the two men grumbling to themselves behind us. I'm barely on the beach when Elaine tackles me in a hug. I remember the spear aimed at her throat and cling tighter to her. What would have happened if this man - Etu - hadn't arrived sooner?

More importantly, where did he even come from? Where did _any_ of them come from?

"Oh, my God. That was so scary...they came out of no where...and you, flinging water in that guy's face..." Elaine is breathless. Her eyes are wide and bloodshot. She gives me another quick hug and then does the same to Dad. He pats down her hair and pecks her forehead. 

"Who are you?" Dominic asks, glaring fiercely at Etu.

Rayne is curled into a ball in the sand at his feet, hands clasped over her ears. Matt is ticking so badly that Abdul has to hold his shoulders steady. The only morbidly calm one is Corinne. Surprise, surprise. 

Etu grabs a spear from one of his men. He drives the butt end of it into the sand and broadens his shoulders. 

"I am Etu," he repeats to the rest of the group. "You have been summoned to this island by our Chieftain, Maluhia; descendant of the great Way-finder, Moana. We are here to take you to her. During your stay, your actions and movements will constantly be monitored by myself and my men."

"Wonderful, but—"

"If we have any reason to believe that you people are dangerous, then we will have no choice but to forcefully remove you from the island."

"Yes, but could you—"

"Any further inquiries you have will be taken up with Maluhia. Do I make myself clear?" Etu narrows his eyes specifically at Dominic. The blond-haired male makes a "tsk" noise and crosses his arms. Etu snaps his fingers. Immediately, his men pick up our belongings, and assume another circle around us: two on either side, and two in the rear, with Etu leading the way. "Welcome to Motunui," Etu says, lacking any enthusiasm or warmth in his voice. "If you would, please follow me."

Without another word, he spins around and heads toward the curtain of vegetation, barring us from the rest of the island. One by one, we gather our wits and start after him. Elaine and I link arms and walk side-by-side, meanwhile glancing nervously from one skirted man to the next. 

 _Yeah_ , I think, unable to shake the uneasiness blooming in my gut. _Welcome to Motunui..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, obviously Samoan is not my first language...nor is it even a language that I know. Which is why I try not to have these other characters speak so much in their native tongue. This, however, was necessary. So I apologize if I butcher (or have butchered) any of these words or phrases. 
> 
> * According to Wikipedia, the *literal* translation is, "Blessed is the moon which goes and returns! Men die and return not." 
> 
> I actually had to look up a bunch of Samoan proverbs for this one. Granted this came from Wikipedia, so I REALLY apologize if it's wrong.


	6. Chieftain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I have been immersing myself in the Polynesian/Samoan culture, and all I have to say is: Oh my gosh, it's amazing! Learning about different cultures has always been fascinating to me, but this...I am in love with everything about this culture.
> 
> If you don't know much about the Polynesian/Samoan culture, or you'd like to know more, I highly recommend watching some of the videos from the polynesiancultural channel on YouTube. There's this guy, Kap Te'o Tafiti, and he's like the head hancho. He teaches you how to get coconuts from a tree, how to open them up and shred the meat, how to make oil out of the coconut milk...he even teaches you on a Ted Talks video how to do a fire dance! Not to mention, he's really funny. 
> 
> These next few chapters are going to be more of fillers implementing the culture and how things operate, because you can't have a story about culture-historical archaeology without first engaging with said culture. I hope you all enjoy!
> 
> McKenna's Playlist >> Shuffle:
> 
> Portuguese Voices - Spark Alaska  
> At a Glance - Message to Bears

"This feels a lot like a prison march..."

" _Shh_."

"What? It does. Richard, doesn't it feel like a prison march?"

"Uh..."

" _Shh_. Don't answer her."

" _Shh_. I wasn't talking to you."

" _Shh_!"

" _Shh_!"

" _Girls_."

The heels of two hands press firmly into the undersides of both mine and Elaine's jaws. Dad wedges himself between us and hooks his arms around our shoulders. He used to do this a lot when we were kids, mostly because Elaine and I could never seem to stop fighting; if we weren't fighting over _this_ , we were fighting over _that_ , and so on. 

It's a wonder Dad survived for so long. 

He ducks his head and whispers, "Must you two do this _now_?"

I throw up a hand. "All I did was ask a question. _Elaine_ is the one who escalated it."

"And I told _her_  to be quiet. _She's_  the one who—"

"Normally I wouldn't say this, but right now, I don't care who did what to whom." Dad gives us both a hard squeeze and lets go. "Please, girls, I am begging you: _behave_ _yourselves_. We are the first foreigners in over a hundred years to set foot on this island. The last thing I want is for us to be kicked off because you two can't control your tempers."

"I can control my temper just fine!"

It doesn't help that Elaine and I say this at the exact same time, in the exact same tone of voice. 

Electricity passes from her eyes to mine. Elaine crosses her arms and juts her chin with a mighty, "Humph!"

I grab the corners of my mouth, stick out my tongue, and roll my eyes at her. 

Dad face-palms. "You girls," he groans, "are Carbon copies of your mother."

I don't think he meant to say that out loud, because even _he_ looks surprised at himself. Elaine's body becomes rigid. She looks at me, and I at her. A wordless exchange passes between us: this moment is important. More important than anything we could ever squabble about, because it has everything to do with Dad and his dream and his promise to Mom. 

We won't be the ones to ruin it for him. At least, not if we can help it. 

"We're sorry, dad," Elaine says. 

"Yeah."

"We'll try to behave."

"Mm-hm."

"And if McKenna gets on my nerves again, I'll just put duct tape over her mouth."

"That's ri...are you _trying_ to piss me off?"

Etu and his band of Skirted Men guide us through the thicket, which grows denser (and darker, _not that it wasn't dark enough_ ) the further in we go. It becomes a competition of dexterity - who can swat the most leaves out of the way before getting thwacked in the face - and coordination - who can walk a certain number of spaces without tripping over a rock or a root.

For us _foreigners_ , this proves to be no simple feat, but Etu and his men are practically _dancing_ through the foliage. With each misstep and near-tumble, I'll hear to my left the sound of snickering; the baby-faced guy whose eyes I'd burned with the salt water is loving this just a little _too_ much. 

Everything smells clean and, more importantly, _green_. The best way I can describe it without going over the top is that it smells like the first filling breath you take when you step out of your house early in the morning. The air is cool and thick with moisture, and smells like wet lawn clippings - plus ocean, plus flowers, plus exotic wildlife, plus coconuts. 

Oh, and sweat. Lots and lots o' sweat.

Every single one of us _stinks_ , but I guess that's what you get for spending the whole day - a  _hot_ day, mind you - on a boat. 

No one says anything for a good half of a mile. Not even Rayne, though it's not to say she didn't try; her attempt at getting one of the skirted men beside her to talk resulted in one of them threatening to stick her with his spear, and her shrieking and latching onto Abdul.

I tell you, I have never laughed so hard in my life. 

Our indication that we've finally reached the village is a sudden, lone tiki torch, in the middle of a sudden, small clearing. At this point, the soles of my feet are sore, and I've got a dozen or so scrapes on my palms and face. A quick glance about the group reveals that _everyone_ is in the same state of misery.

Even Etu and his men, although I have to assume that they're miserable for entirely different reasons. 

Up ahead, I can see a path of torches winding like snake through the village. In the near-pitch darkness, the homes resemble the silhouettes of mountains. I _smell_ before I hear the livestock; chickens clucking excitedly, and pigs snorting and sloshing about in the mud. And further inward, to a place not yet visible to the naked eye, I hear the first sounds of human life: the squealing of children, the laughter of older men and women, and the rhythmical beat of drums. 

_We're not in Milwaukee anymore..._

Etu stops at the edge of the clearing. The orange glow of the torch turns his dark bronze skin into gold. Without moving his head, he hisses something to his men in their native tongue. Whatever he said must translate to, "Grab the foreigners shit and run," because no sooner does he finish, the men hitch our belongings higher up their shoulders and take off. 

"Excuse me," Dominic begins. "Where are they taking our stuff?"

"To your lodgings. Where else?"

Etu's quick, kind of witty response stunts Dominic into clamping his teeth over his tongue. 

I'm really starting to like this guy. 

Etu bends down and scoops up something that I hadn't noticed lying on the ground earlier; it had been tucked away beneath a bunch of leaves, and in this lighting, it would have been easy to miss. He holds it up, giving me a clearer view of what it is: it's a conch shell. An authentic one, too. Not one of those fake ones you put in your "original" ocean-themed bathroom. (I'm looking at _you_ , Elaine.)

There's an etching next to the top of the shell, which he presses to his puckered lips. The sound that comes out of the opposite end of the conch shell - a series of quick spurts, no doubt with the help of his tongue - carries over the constant static-y drone of palm trees swaying in the breeze and the crashing of waves in the distance. 

At the call, the jovial sounds of life come to an abrupt end. Of course, the chickens and pigs, after a brief moment of silence, start back up again.

As for everything else - _dead silence_.

"What was that for?" Dad asks. 

Etu lowers his arms and pivots to face him. "You shall see soon enough."

Dominic just about bursts a blood vessel. He takes a step forward, but Dad puts a hand on his shoulder. I think Dominic would have done something rash either way, if it weren't for the pleading look in my father's eyes. I can only imagine what he's thinking: _F_ _irst McKenna and Elaine, and now my_ best friend _? It's like they're purposefully trying to get us kicked off the island._

Sucking in a deep breath, Dominic pulls back, choosing instead to glare icily at Etu.

Etu reciprocates the glare, but is interrupted by the call of another conch shell. This call is steady and somewhat regal-esque, reminding me of a trumpet. Shortly thereafter, the sounds of life begin anew, with the children shrieking even louder than before, and the men and women speaking in raised voices. 

We watch - half of us awe-stricken, the other half of us shitting our pants - as a building mass of people carrying torches emerge from behind one of the houses. They're all dressed similarly, with all the men wearing those weird skirts, and the women wearing skirts made out of grass or cloth and what appears to be tube tops cut off at the mid-riff. A majority of the younger children, which run amok beside the expanding group, are naked; those that (I believe) are older than six or seven wear...I'll let you take a wild guess.

I lean toward Elaine, unable to rip my gaze from the group, and whisper, "Do these people not believe in pants? They're _all_ wearing skirts."

"It's not a skirt, dummy." Elaine thumps my shoulder. "It's called a  _lavalava_. It's a traditional piece of Polynesian clothing."

A _lavalava_...I have to admit, it sounds a whole lot cooler than _skirts_. 

Pretty soon, the near-pitch darkness of the village is overrun by bright, orange flames. The villagers stop a couple meters away; two children, a boy and a girl, chase each other to the front of the group, grinding to a halt only when Etu clears his throat.

Awkward staring ensues...

"Excuse me! Sorry!"

An arm suddenly shoots up five people back. The villagers part, one at a time, and once they've created a big enough gap, a slim figure stumbles through. She's short - a good four foot six at best - with waist-length, curly black hair and ginormous brown eyes. Her outfit consists of a grass skirt, which is covered from her waist to her knees by _another_  red wrap-around skirt - "That would be a _pareo_ , numbskull." - and one of those tube-top things the rest of the women are wearing, only hers is coral-colored. She also has on anklets and armbands made out of leaves, as well as a headband.

"A _lei_ , McKenna. It's called a _lei_. Did you do _any_ research before we left Milwaukee?"

I offer Elaine a wide, innocent smile. A sign that clearly reads, "No, I did fucking not."

This girl blunders about for a second on the tips of her toes. Etu holds up his hand, as if to catch her in case she falls - _as if this is normal for her, and they've gone through this routine a thousand times_. She flaps her arms wildly, and then crashes back down on her heels. Her _lei_ slips down and covers her eyes. 

"S-sorry for being late," she says, pushing the _lei_ to the top of her head. "You would think that I'd be leading the group - I _am_ the one who blew the conch shell, so it makes sense - but I got a little star-struck once I saw you guys standing here and..." 

Etu clears his throat, more forcefully this time. 

The girl glances up at him, as if remembering who she is and why she's here. "Oh, right. Ugh..." She straightens her spine and clasps her hands. Goes from clumsy to prim and proper in 2.3 seconds. "My name is Maluhia Waialiki," she says. "Welcome to Motunui. We are so excited to have..." She bows slightly, gesturing to the village behind her, and the _lei_ once again slips down over her eyes. She clenches her teeth, finishing her greeting with an aggravated, "... _you here_."

Our sad, pathetic hides have no idea how to respond. To any of this. Even my father is stumped; my father, who has, as I recall, written, revised, and _recited out loud_ a letter addressing the Chieftain of Motunui, should he ever get the chance to come here.

Dominic and I are on totally similar wave lengths, because after another awkward beat, he grabs Dad's shoulders and holds him out toward Maluhia as an offering. 

Dad's arms lock at his sides the closer Dominic pushes him toward said Chieftain. When she smiles, Dad's entire body shudders. In the orange lighting, I can make out the blush on his cheekbones. My jaw falls off its hinges. 

"U-uh...p-pleased to m-meet you, Miss Maluhia." Clearing his throat and steeling his nerves, he holds out his hand to her. 

Her smile deepens. "Please," she says, taking his hand, "call me Maluhia."

Their hands have yet to separate. Etu notices this above everyone else - except maybe me, 'cause I'm more observant than Sherlock and Watson combined - and places a hand on Maluhia's shoulder. Once more, that expression of self-realization dawns on her face. She takes her hand back from dad and chuckles nervously. 

"Ah...well! It's too late to throw you a welcome celebration. Tomorrow, we will have a full day of festivities planned to celebrate your arrival. For now, why don't we continue this in my house? I'm sure you all have a lot of questions."

Rayne's hand shoots high into the air.

Maluhia smiles and points at her. "Enthusiastic. I like it. What is your question?"

A faint blush works its way onto Rayne's face. She scratches her cheek and says, "Could you please tell me where the bathroom is?"

~~~

Fun fact: in Samoan culture, the Chieftain's house is known as the _maoto tofa_. It's the largest house in the entire village, and sits on the highest point of elevation, overlooking everything. 

It's a bit of a walk up the steep hill, but we've already established that I haven't exerted myself physically in a looong time, so by the time we reach her house, I'm positively breathless. Elaine and Richard have to drag me up the steps leading into her house, which we were informed by Maluhia on the way up is made of bamboo, coconut fibers, and thatched sugarcane leaves.

The inside is dark, but it's an easy fix, because Etu brought one of the villagers torches with him; we wait as he huffs about, lighting candles that are randomly spaced throughout the room. There isn't much furniture here - a few stacked mats at the far left of the room, a rug, and some hand-woven pillows. The walls aren't _actually_ walls, but are instead made out of some sort of sturdy cloth. All of the cloths either have patterns or drawings etched into them, mostly of ocean waves and islands. The one that Maluhia sits down in front of depicts a large, grinning man wielding a fish hook in one hand, and a rock-looking thing in his other; there are five animals above his head - a turtle, a beetle**, a hawk, a fish, and a lizard - and below him is a manta ray. Swimming up to meet them.

It's...oddly transfixing.

"Thank you, Etu," Maluhia says once all the candles are lit. "You may go."

" _Manuia le po._ *" He taps a hand to his chest and takes his leave.

Once he's gone, Maluhia lets out a long, hearty sigh. "Thank the gods he's gone...I always feel like I'm walking over a bed of hot coals when Etu is around me. With him, it's all about being courteous. 'A Chieftain should do this' and 'a Chieftain should do that.'" She crosses her eyes and dons her deepest voice when she says this. We can't help but chuckle, not only because it's funny, but because we had no idea that Maluhia could be so _real_. 

I think we were all expecting a tall, intimidating man - like Etu, for example - with a constipated expression. So this is refreshing. 

"So." Maluhia claps her hands. "Question time."

It's ridiculous, but she makes us go down the line and ask our questions one by one. She starts with Dad.

"Is it true that Motunui was one of the first islands to ever form on the earth?"

Rayne balks at this and hisses, " _That was going to be my question, Mr. Henri James Wolford the Second!_ "

Maluhia ignores her and says, "It is partially true. We believe that Te Fiti, otherwise known as the Mother Island, was the _very first_ island to form on the earth."

Next is Dominic. Then Abdul. Then Matt. Then Corinne, although her question isn't really a question: she asks Maluhia if Etu is seeing anybody, to which a dumbfounded Maluhia explains that he has a wife and six children. 

Hers is the only question I was even remotely interested in hearing, and she did not let me down.

Maluhia moves on to the next person. I find myself tuning out again. Focusing my attention on the depicted man above her head. There's something about the rock the man is holding in his hand...no, there's something about the whole picture itself. I've _seen_ this before. The thing is, I can't remember where on earth I could have possibly seen it.

A book in a library? From a presentation in history class? On the Discovery Channel?

I have no idea. But I have _definitely_ seen it before...

"McKenna."

Rayne reaches over and smacks the back of my head. I glare at her, a slew of curses on the tip of my tongue. She points to Maluhia, and when I turn my head, said woman is staring at me. Waiting. Patient. 

"Ugh...my turn?" I ask, pointing to myself. 

Maluhia nods. 

I chew my bottom lip in thought. My gaze travels back to the man above her. I gesture to him with my chin and say, "Who's that supposed to be? On the cloth behind you?"

Maluhia turns about to look at him. A smile graces her lips. "That," she says with a light-hearted chuckle, "would be Maui."

"Who?"

"Maui, otherwise known as _Maui: Demi-God of the Wind and Sea, Hero to All_." Maluhia rolls her eyes. "If you ask me, he's nothing but a..." Her voice catches. I narrow my eyes, but she's quick to recover, "Well, he's _rumored_ to be nothing but a hot-headed, cocky, egotistical bastard. It's said that he was the one who helped my ancestor, Moana, return the stolen Heart of Te Fiti to its rightful place."

The energy in the room changes at the mention of the Heart. I'm actually sort of surprised that no one brought it up sooner. It's the reason why we're here...well, one of the reasons, anyway. 

Elaine, seated to my right, picks up her head. "It's my turn to ask a question," she says. Maluhia nods, giving her the go-ahead. "One of the distributors that brought us here mentioned something that I've been ruminating over for a long time. She said that your village hasn't opened up its arms to foreigners in almost a century."

"That...that's right."

"Around that same time, the mythology of Te Fiti, including her Heart, started to be looked on by archaeologists and historians around the world as mere Polynesian folklore rather than fact. People began to lose interest. Eventually, it was wiped clean from history. Apparently your people didn't want anyone to know about her."

Maluhia is quiet. 

"So here's my question: does the reason why no one has traveled here in almost a century have _any_ thing at all to do with the fact that someone tried to steal Te Fiti's Heart again?"

You could hear a gnat fart in this silence.

No one breathes; no one blinks. We're all looking at Elaine, awed and bewildered at both her mind and her question. Not a single one of us had drawn that sort of conclusion. It had been right there, dangling in front of our noses, yet Elaine is the only one who noticed. I want to praise her for being so smart. 

All eyes fall on Maluhia, waiting for her answer. 

What we don't expect to find is her pale face, parted lips, and hazy eyes.

I know that look on her face: it's the look of someone who has witnessed first-hand something traumatic. Something so horrid, so frightening, that no amount of therapy or medication could ever put her mind at ease. 

Maluhia never answers Elaine's question, but we all know what the answer is.

Her reaction made it loud and clear. 

~~~

I awaken in the dead of night, body drenched and heart rattling in my chest. 

It takes me a moment to remember where I am: laying on a matt in one of the guest _fale's_ \- a Samoan hut - on the island of Motunui. 

In the back of my mind, I can still see dull, lifeless mint green eyes, and a trail of red running along a crevice in the floor. There's a clamp in my throat, stopping the sobs before they can come surging up. Which is fine. I'll lay here and silently bawl my eyes out all night, listening to the thrashing of waves on the shore and the livestock bustling about in their pen. 

Because if Elaine or my father find out that I'm having nightmares again...

Let's just say, it'll be a matter of time before things get really, _really_ bad again, and leave it at that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Manuia le po - In Samoan, means "good night" or "have a great night"
> 
> ** (August 11 update) my dummy-dumb self wrote "ladybug" at first...whoops


	7. Book

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT: Thank you guys so much for being patient with this chapter. I'm going to be in New York for a few days, and I won't be taking my laptop with me, so there won't be any new updates for a good two or so weeks. But by the time I get back, hopefully I'll be able to get right back in the swing of things. I already have the next chapter planned, so it's just a matter of writing it out. 
> 
> This is, personally, my favorite chapter in the entire story, and it's funny because it was also the hardest for me to write! I'm sorry if it's too long, or not as entertaining as the others. 
> 
> I'd also like to thank you folks for 200+ hits! I love you, you beautiful people.
> 
> McKenna's Playlist >> Shuffle:
> 
> Higher - The Naked and Afraid  
> Hurt Me - Låpsley  
> Maybe - London Grammar

It’s been almost a full week now since we arrived on Motunui’s doorstep. So much has happened, I’m not really sure where to begin.

I might as well just…start at Day One, right? Okay. Well, true to her word, Maluhia had arranged for the village to throw us a welcome celebration. The celebration, I was informed by both Maluhia and Elaine, is a kind of traditional custom. The intent is to make guests of the village feel welcomed (doi) and appreciated, but it’s also to serve as a means by which the guests can study and engage in their culture.

But come the morning of our first day, Maluhia ran over our schedule and found that…there are just too many things to do. Even she was left a little flustered. In the end, we were left no other option than to break up our activities, which would take place over the course of about four days or so.

Our first “day of fun” began with Maluhia and Etu stomping up the wooden steps of our _fale_. No sooner had the Chieftain greeted us with an exuberant, “Good morning, my friends,” they began rolling up the pieces of cloth substituting for our walls one-by-one. Allowing the scorching rays of the waking sun to fall on our tightly closed eyelids.

I’d hissed like a nocturnal animal and burrowed beneath my blankets. The act certainly amused Maluhia, because she laughed under her breath.

Our _fale_ is located at the outskirts of the village, close to the beach, and it’s big enough for all of us to fit inside without feeling too cramped. When I managed to open my eyes that morning, I awoke to two glorious things: 1) the tangy, oddly sweetening scent of sea-salt in the air, and 2) the sun-kissed, sculpted backside of a _one hundred percent shirtless_ Dominic Wyman.

I was too busy gorging myself on such a magnificent feast to feel self-conscious about my kitten-printed pajama bottoms. Or my matted hair.

Waking up to a sight like _that_ certainly made those next few early mornings bearable.

Of fucking course, Elaine, who is just as observant as I am, noticed me openly checking out our father’s best friend. (I’m sure everyone else did, too, with the exception of Dominic himself, my father, and Richard.)

She crouched in front of me, obscuring my view of Dominic as he stretched. I would have punched her if I wasn’t so tired. She squinted, lips pursed together, and pointed a finger to the corner of her mouth. She said, quite smugly, “You’re drooling, princess.”

“ _Fuck off_.” I grumbled in return.

Dressing proved to be chaotic because the _fale_ doesn’t have separate rooms, or even dividers. And thanks to Maluhia and Etu rolling up our walls, not only did we have to change in front of each other, but we had to change _in front of the entire village_. A group of natives had formed outside our _fale_ ; there were children amount them, holding  _leis_.

All humbly awaiting our exit.

Red-faced and embarrassed, I’d gathered my change of clothes – a pair of shorts, a white strapless ruffle top, and flip-flops – and migrated as far away from them and the entire male populace occupying the household as possible. I threw off garments so fast, I put Barry fuckin’ Allen to shame. Of course…even Barry has his off days. _Coincidentally_ , as I was pulling on my shorts, someone _guffawed_ behind me. I’d never even understood what the word _guffawed_ actually sounded like until I heard it put to practice that morning.

My hands froze. Slowly, I cranked my head and peered over my shoulder.

Five young boys, ranging from age 7 to age 10, were poking their heads over the edge of the open _fale_. Fingers were pointed. Cheeks tinged pink. Lips stretched into mischievous grins. The oldest one, dark eyes wide as tea saucers and tongue hanging half out of his mouth, was staring straight at my ass. When our eyes met, they threw themselves away from the house as if it were fire and took off running, shrieking and jostling one another’s shoulders.

Which was _great_. Fucking…peachy.

I captured Elaine by the arm before we left the fale. In a low, tremulous voice, I begged her to make me yet another promise, one that required her to wake me up early every morning. This wouldn’t be a problem for her, because Elaine has always been an early riser. It doesn’t matter what time she goes to sleep at night, she always manages to wake up at 6:45am on the dot.

“Sure thing, McKenna.” She rolled her eyes at me and leaned in real close. Held a hand to her mouth and whispered, “But just so you know, those boys weren’t the only ones watching your little…display.”

I followed her gaze to Dominic. He must have had a rough night, too, because his movements were languid as he pulled his shirt over his head. And we were speaking in low voices, so there was no way he could have possibly heard us.

He turned his head in our direction. The corner of his mouth quirked up, and he sent me an insinuating wink as he tugged his shirt down over his abs. So. Agonizingly. Slow. I realized than that he not only caught me staring in that moment, but he’d caught me staring at him earlier that morning.

My cheeks flamed.

"So much for ' _I_ do not _still have a crush on Dominic Wyman_ ,'" Elaine whispered, her breath tickling the hairs on my neck.

"You're especially bitchy today, aren't you?"

We converged with Maluhia, Etu, and the group of natives outside the hut. When the children saw us, they charged forward and began throwing the floral arrangements around our necks. Two girls had thrown six - count'em, _six_ \- _leis_ around my neck. I started pulling them off, but at the pathetic pouting I received from the girls, I relented to keep one: a circle of gold-and-pink plumeria flowers. This seemed to satisfy them for the time being.

Once we received our _leis_ , Maluhia referred to her schedule and said, in a raised voice so everyone could hear, “Today, we are giving our guests a tour of the island!” She had Etu translate it for those who could not speak English. (Which raises the question, how can they speak English in the first place? Do I care? Not really.)

We branched off into groups: my father, Dominic, and Richard went with Etu; Abdul, Matt, and Rayne went with a woman named Sina; and Elaine, Corinne, and I went with Maluhia.

Since we were fortunate enough to have Maluhia as our escort, I decided to use the opportunity to ask her some questions, most of which had to do with that Maui character. I’m not sure why I itched to know more about him, but something had stirred in my belly when I saw him stitched on that cloth in her _fale_. I’d seen it before. I just needed to find out where.

This proved to be more of a challenge than I thought.

A few of the natives that had greeted us that morning stuck around while Maluhia took us on a tour of the village. Corinne caught the eyes of several of the younger men, no surprise there, but there were even a few who trailed on Elaine and mine’s heels like curious puppies. The women walked in-time with us, petting our hair and remarking on how pretty we were.

But the children were exceptionally annoying; they clung onto my hands with vice grips, pulled at my clothes, and reached up toward my hair to feel it as their mothers had. Ostensibly, none of them had ever seen blonde hair before. Which makes sense. Everyone who lives here has _black_ hair.

The point is, with them tagging along, there never was an moment where I could catch Maluhia alone to ask her my questions. And even when by some miracle we managed to find ourselves alone for the moment, she was too busy filling us in on information about the village.

Here’s a quick run-down of everything I learned/saw about the village, so you’re not hopelessly fumbling for a setting:

Our _fale_ , as I mentioned before, is located on the outskirts of the village, close to the beach. Along that same stretch of beach, which forms a semi-circle around the village, a cluster of canoes lay docked in the sand. Each day, fisherman wade out into the reef with nets to catch fish. A trail winds from the beach through the rest of the village, shaded by palm trees, and the first _fale_ it branches off to belongs to the village herbalist, an elderly woman named Ona.

Further in is a clearing of sorts with a _fale_ built straight up out of the ground. Underneath is a flame pit, and natives are scattered around it, cooking and shredding the inside of coconuts: this area is called the _tunoa_ , which the equivalent of the kitchen. The trail then continues to wind through other _fales_ and huts, leading to a vegetable garden toward the back of the village. The vegetable garden is known as the _fa’atoaga_ , and it is surrounded by a grove of coconut trees. Away from the villagers’ huts reside the livestock pens, where they raise boars and chickens.

Maluhia’s personal home sits on the top of the hill overlooking the village, but at the base of the hill is another hut that I hadn’t noticed the night before, mainly because it was too dark. This hut is known as the _fale_ _fono_ , and it’s where Maluhia and her “council” congregate to discuss matters pertaining to the safety and security of their people.

The last place Maluhia took us to required endurance, the likes of which I do not possess; it sat at the tip-top of one of the highest mountains on the island, and unlike the previous groups before us, it took us nearly three hours to get there. But when we finally reached the top, even the grouchy part of me had to admit that the view was _divine_. The mountain over-looked the whole village and the lagoon, and there were flowers and palm trees layered over the hills.

I’d died and gone to Motunui.

Our reasoning for being up here had everything to do with the pillars of stacked stones. Maluhia explained that every stone represents a Chieftain that came before her. There were a total of three pillars, and the oldest one – I knew it was the oldest judging by the amount of moss covering it - sat in the middle. The one to its left reached three stones higher, and the one on the right was leveled only five stones high. At the top of the middle pillar sat a conch shell, cracked and weathered with age.

“What’s with the shell?” Corinne had asked, extending a finger to touch it.

Maluhia intercepted her, gently grabbing her wrist. Her smile was warm as she said, “It belonged to my beloved ancestor, Moana. It was…a gift.”

“From who?”

Maluhia simply continued smiling and wouldn’t give us an answer. Yet another question to add to the pile.

On the trip down the mountain, which took us a little less than an hour, I fell into step with Maluhia and finally managed to ask her a few of my questions. My first one being, “Is there anything else you can tell me about Maui?”

“You’re still curious about him?” She asked, stunned.

I nodded.

“Well,” she said, rubbing the back of her neck, “he’s a Demigod, which you already know. And a Demigod is basically a deity born either mortal or immortal from a god and a human being. Maui, however…he’s a little different than the others.”

“How so?”

“For one thing, his parents were both human beings. The story goes that when he was born, his mother cast him into the ocean.”

“Why?”

Maluhia shrugged. “She didn’t want him. Neither of his parents did. But the gods saw promise in him. They took him in as their own and made him immortal. A few of the notable things he’s done for our world is lasso the sun, pull islands up out of the sea, steal fire for us from the earth’s core…”

She went on to talk about some of his other accomplishments – as if she knew him personally – but I’d taken three steps backward out of the conversation. Maui’s mother cast him into the ocean when he was born…because she didn’t _want_ him? That was a bullshit reason, and it pissed me off a lot more than it should have.

How can a parent not want their child? How can they resort to throwing them away – literally – so that they no longer have any ties with them?

How can they leave you, all alone, at seven years old…without so much as a fucking goodbye…

“Whoa. Hey. Are you okay?” Maluhia stopped me. The others kept going, oblivious to our conversation. I felt fingers rubbing away the tears streaming down my cheeks, but I didn’t process that they were Maluhia’s until my face was completely clean.

“Oh…I’m fine. Sorry. Just…tired, I guess.”

“Yeah. Tired.” Her brows remained furrow with doubt, but she did not press me any further. As for the rest of my questions, well, they could wait.

Day Two was spent at the _tunoa_ , where we met a barrel-chested man named Akoni, otherwise known as Motunui’s "top chef." He had loads of tattoos covering his legs, and although he appeared innocent, he had an impish smile. He spent the day showing us how to prepare various meals, and even went so far as to teach us how to remove a coconut from the husk, open it, and shred the meat from inside.

But as I went through the motions, my heart just wasn’t in it. All I could think about were babies being tossed into the ocean, and the mothers who didn’t want them.

Akoni noticed my gloomy aura faster than even my own sister did, because as soon as he’d prepared the coconut milk – by way of wrapping coconut fibers around the shredded meat and ringing it like a cloth – he chose me to be the first test-taster of a dish he called _Fa’alifu ulu_ : cooked breadfruit with coconut milk.

I’d never heard of breadfruit before that day, but thanks to Akoni, I haven’t wanted to eat anything else since. It was hot, as the fruit had been resting on top of the flame pit, but one dip in the coconut milk cooled it instantly. As soon as I placed it on my tongue, it all but melted. My spirits were uplifted, and despite everyone having a taste, I was the one given permission to finish it.

Day Three, well, things started getting back to normal. Maluhia and Etu took us to the fishermen, where they showed us how to catch fish, and how to throw the nets. Abdul ended up getting a little too excited, and when he went to throw his net, he lost his footing and fell backwards into the water. Even Etu, whose expression excels stoic-as-a-stone Corinne’s, cracked a smile.

Abdul and Matt returned to the _fale_ after that, so he could dry off and change. The rest of us were taken through the village toward the grove of coconut trees. There, we learned how to climb trees.

In this venture, Elaine and I made a bet: whoever could climb half-way up the tree first got fifteen dollars. I tried to weasel in the keys to the Plymouth, but Elaine blew me off with a laugh. What made this bet subsequently different than the others, however, is that Corinne decided to place a bet as well – in favor of Elaine. This pissed me off so much that I became determined to win. A bit too determined: I nearly made it half-way up the tree when my foot slipped. If it weren’t for the climber following after me to keep me safe, I would have fallen straight to my death.

At the expense of losing my life, I lost thirty bucks…and most of my dignity.

By Day Four, I’d pushed aside the entire conversation I had with Maluhia about Maui and once more tried to find some time to ask her my questions. Her and Etu had taken us to one of the _fales_ belonging to their tattoo artist, Ne’igalomeatiga. ~~Try saying that three times fast.~~ The process for giving tattoos is painful, and I’m going to leave it at that. I personally did not get a tattoo – although it was offered – but I watched my father try to get one on his shoulder, and it was not pretty.

In one of his efforts to get away from the tattoo artist, he kicked a bowl of ink. Straight at me. It stained the front of my The Smiths: The Queen is Dead T-shirt. My _favorite_ shirt. Dad could not apologize enough, and promised to buy me a new one.

“It’s all right,” I told him, and was surprised to find that I meant it. I was in too good of a mood to argue or pitch a fit.

Dad didn’t seem surprised, or even impressed. He was concerned. “Honey, are you feeling well? You’re not sick, are you?”

I threw my head back and laughed. “I’m perfectly fine!”

I’m not sure why this didn’t convince him. I excused myself to go change my shirt. Dominic offered to go with me, as the _fale_ was some ways from where we were, but I waved him away and told him I would be fine. If I would have known what awaited me once I got there, I surely would have agreed to let him come with me.

The sun was setting by the time I came bouncing along the trail to our _fale_. I’d skipped – _skipped_ , I tell you – all the way there. However, the minute I saw the young boy sitting in the steps, I halted. I recognized him – he had been one of the boys playing Peeping Tom our first morning on the island.

He didn’t see me at first, and continued swinging his legs and humming. Only when I raised my voice and said, “Hey,” did he react. He shot to his feet and disappeared into the _fale_. I glanced inside, only to find the other four Peeping Toms huddled together over our luggage. They were probing one of the bags, unzipping the compartments and pulling out clothes, hair products… _a book_.

“Hey,” I said. “Hey, hey, _hey_!”

The aggressive nature of my voice, and the horrified expression on the boy who had taken watch on the steps, motivated the rest of them to their feet. Without putting our things away, they took off running. The older one tried to stuff my book back into the pocket, but one of his friends jarred his shoulder, causing him to rip – to rip - to _rip_ several of the pages.

A shriek carried through the air. I thought it belonged to a bird, but it had actually come from within me. I wanted to chase after them and kick their stupid, tiny butts into the earth. But the book…my book…

I dropped to my knees next to my bag and eased the book gently out of the pocket. Only the first three pages were ripped. From a distance, it looked as if it had been _a_ _hundred_ pages. And the cover – that beautiful cover, one I could paint with my eyes closed – was bent in half.

Then I saw it – mint green eyes without a shine to them – and my throat clamped shut. It was impossible to breathe, to speak, to do anything. It even hurt to _exist_. There were tears in my eyes, on my cheeks, sprinkling my lap. I held the book close to my chest, as if willing the image to disappear. For the memory to be erased.

_Lifeless mint green eyes, and red running through the crevices in the floor…_

_“Mommy, what are you doing in there?”_

“McKenna?” I heard him, albeit faintly, through the static in my ears. Two seconds later, he’d crossed the fale and wrapped an arm around me. I didn’t have to ask: he’d seen what had happened. He knew why I was crying, and he knew that words were not going to console me.

We sat there for a good hour like that. Strangely, no one came looking for us, but at the time I didn’t question it. And he cupped me in his hands, tenderly, as one would hold a heart made of glass. Easily breakable. Delicate and fragile.  

Since then, Dominic and I haven’t said one word to each other. Oftentimes, I’ll catch him staring at me with concern in his eyes. And it’s obvious he hasn’t told my father, because I haven’t been approached by him or Elaine yet. For that, I’m grateful.

Tonight, Maluhia and the villagers are throwing us a party of sorts. There will be dancing and singing, bonfires, and _Fa’alifu ulu_ galore. Everyone is excited. Really looking forward to it.

I only wish I could say the same.

~~~

"Ah! I can't believe I forgot to change!"

We all watch as Maluhia, the proud and esteemed Chieftain of Motunui, unravels. She bounces from foot to foot, rooting her fingers through her hair and pulling. The other dancers are grinning and murmuring to one another from across the bonfire. They must have known Maluhia would do this. Apparently she's very forgetful. And clumsy. 

"Ah...ah...okay! Okay, okay." Maluhia stops hopping and claps her hands in front of her face. "You girls wait here. Let Kap do his Fire Dance first." The dancers groan in response. "I'm sorry, just...give me ten minutes. I'll be right back." She bows her head a few times before pivoting on her heel and taking off through the village, the darkness swallowing her whole. 

"Does...she do this often?" Abdul says, directing his question at the dancers. 

"Try all the time," the tallest one says. The rest of them giggle into their hands. "Kap! You're up." 

A short, muscled mass of a man offers a wide smile in response and grabs his sticks. As the dancers return to sitting amidst the other villagers, the men situated next to the "stage" area begin beating their drums. Kap bows in greeting, holding his sticks above his head. The drums come to a stop, and he dips one end of a stick into the bonfire. Once it's lit, he moves the fire to the other end, then does the same with the second stick. With a mighty _boom_ of the drums, be begins twirling them in his hands. 

Elaine leans over and rests her head on my shoulder. We're all a little exhausted today. Some of us more than others. And Richard retired early to the _fale_ to get some sleep, so now it's my turn to be on the receiving end of her attention.

"Are you sure you're all right, McKenna?" She asks quietly. I can barely hear her over the drums. I lightly shrug my shoulder. "Dominic told us that you passed out in the _fale_. He said you were exhausted. Have you been getting enough sleep at night?"

Again, I shrug. 

"You...you haven't been having nightmares again, have you?"

I fight my body's urge to tense and say, "Of course not." 

"Good. That's...really good to hear."

She sighs and nuzzles in closer. I hook our arms together and rest my chin on her head. My gaze falls on Dad, who keeps glancing over his shoulder in the direction Maluhia scampered off in. And Dominic...Dominic is...

I lift my head. "Hey, where did Dominic go?"

"I think he said he was going to the bathroom. His stomach must be bothering him, because he had to use the bathroom earlier. That's when he found you in the _fale_."

 _Of course_. 

Seeing it as a chance to talk with him, I pat Elaine's shoulder and force her away. Her eyes narrow. Before she can ask, I say, "I'm going to go rescue our father." She glances over at Dad. Notices the way he keeps shooting looks up the dirt path. She nods in understanding. 

I step toward Dad and place a hand on his shoulder. He jumps. 

"Do you want me to go see if she's done?" I ask. 

"W-would you? That would be..." He clears his throat. "That would be great. Thank you."

I bend down and peck his forehead. He pats my hand and returns to watching Kap perform his Fire Dance. I want to take off running, but for the sake of not raising any suspicion, I stroll leisurely up the dirt path until I'm well out of the bonfire light. Once I'm cloaked in shadow, I take off running through the village toward our _fale_. My breath is nearly gone by the time I get there. I hear Richard snoring from inside, but a thorough perimeter check shows that Dominic isn't here. 

He must have gone back to the bonfire; I just missed him. 

 _Oh, well_.

I push myself into a jog toward Maluhia's _fale_ next. It takes me ten minutes to reach the top of the hill. I half expect to run into Maluhia, who promised the dancers she would return after that much time had passed. A few of her cloths - which I now know are called _kapa_  - are rolled up, allowing me to see the inside of her _fale_. Candles are lit, and from here, I can make out the etching of Maui...

" _You know damn well what I mean_."

Dominic's British accent carves through the darkness. His shadow falls over the _kapa_ cloth of Maui, with the much smaller shadow of Maluhia trailing after.

I stagger. Instinct drives me to hide behind a nearby tree.

They step out of the _fale_ together and pause at the top step. Dominic is leaning in severely close, and Maluhia's chest is puffed. She's glaring at him with equal intensity.

This, the girl who just blustered about like a baby, apologizing for forgetting to change her outfit. 

"You were there. You _saw_ what happened."

"Yes. Yes, I did."

" _So, tell me_!" Dominic moves in closer and hunches down. So close that their noses are touching. The harshness of his words doesn't affect Maluhia in the slightest. I can see her fists bunching at her sides. 

"Even if I did tell you, there is certainly nothing that _you_ can do about it," she replies. 

"Bullshit."

"Mr. Wyman, what your grandfather did was unforgivable by any means. I am afraid that the consequences of his actions are irreversible."

Dominic's eyes pinch shut. "There has to be a way..."

Maluhia opens her mouth, only for a shudder to move down her spine. She takes a step back and says, "There isn't...now, let us return. Before the others come looking for us."

Together, they start down the trail leading to the village. They keep each other at a distance. I have to squeeze my body against the tree when they pass. I wait until they become nothing more than silhouettes in the distance before stepping out of my hiding place. 

Maluhia knew Dominic's grandfather...but how?

Could it...no, that's ridiculous. The foreigners that came here nearly a century ago have nothing to do with us. And if Dominic had ties to them, then surely we would know.

...wouldn't we?

I may not know the answer to that question, but there is one thing I know: Dominic knows something that we don't.

And I am going to find out what it is. Even if it kills me...which, you know, I hope it doesn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: (June 25) I'm still in New York, but I was skimming through this chapter and noticed a whole shit load of typos and errors, so I went ahead and fixed them...sorry, guys!


	8. Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hullo, lovelies! I have returned from my trip to New York! It was a breath of fresh air, but toward the end I was really beginning to itch for my laptop. I'm so excited to get back to work on this story!
> 
> Also, I know it's a day early, but I hope you all have a fun-filled (or relaxing, pick your poison) 4th of July!
> 
> McKenna's Playlist >> Shuffle:
> 
> Flesh - mAsis  
> Die Trying - Michl  
> Still Life - Dawn Golden

The good news is: I’m not dead. ~~Yet~~. 

The bad news is: I’m all alone, and I have sand in places that are unfamiliar even to me.

Cheek pressed against the soft, balmy sand, I peer through half-lidded eyes at the stretch of beach before me. Bits of debris are scattered along the shorefront. A piece of cloth, trapped within a cluster of rocks and bearing a mysterious red pattern, flaps about in the wind. Aside from a crab, which emerges from the wet sand directly in front of me, the beach is completely vacant. I watch the crab shake the sand from its body and pitter forward. Then, as if realizing it's not alone, it pauses, turns and stares at me for an indefinite amount of time, and then high-tails it in the opposite direction.

I close my eyes. Focus on the cool ocean waves lapping at my skin. It's a relieving contrast to the broiling sun beating down on my body. 

Maybe it’s the exhaustion talking, but I can’t seem to remember what happened to bring me to this place. My memories are fuzzy, but it’s not a drunk kind of fuzzy. It’s more of a “sat on your hand for a really long time and now it’s tingling and feels like static” sort of fuzzy. Yeah. It's exactly that feeling, but in my head. 

I can’t think. Moreover, I don’t _want_ to think. All I want to do is sleep.

_But the others...I have to find the others._

Releasing an explosive sigh, I steel my resolve and open my eyes. I anchor my hands beneath me and push up. The muscles in my triceps tremble and resist. My body is heavy. Glancing over my shoulder, I half expect to see an elephant sitting poised on my back. Once my belly is at least off the ground, I bend my knees, root my toes in the sand, and attempt to lift myself onto my feet. An unfamiliar shock races down the backs of my legs, and I slump forward.

Well, shit.

It doesn’t look like I’ll be walking anytime soon. Crawling will have to suffice for the time being.

My first "step" is a total bust: as soon as I place all of my weight on my right hand, my elbow gives out and I face-plant the ground. 

_Just gotta get to someplace cool…just gotta get to someplace cool…_

I growl and push back up onto my hands. This time, I take it slow - painfully slow - as I army crawl away from the water. My mouth is dry, my tongue is swollen, and my throat burns like I’ve chugged a Salt Water and Sand smoothie. Which, you know, I probably have. My ears are ringing with white noise, a roaring drone that ceases to end, blocking out all other sounds. Not to mention there’s this dull pain in my left hip, throbbing in-tune with the erratic beating of my heart.

I’m not as concerned about it as I should be. My sights are set on the shaded area further up the beach, compliments of the thicket of lush palm trees.

By the time I crawl into the shade, my aching body is well and spent, and I'm covered in a full sheen of sweat. Allowing for even more sand to cling to places sand _should not_ be clinging to. Each exhale that comes out is shallow and quick. Unable to support my weight, I flop down onto my right side and roll, so that I’m staring up at the fronds rustling in the breeze and the true blue sky. Or, I should say, the true blue,  _cloudless_ sky. 

_Go figure._

This is how the weather should have been…sheesh. I don't even know how much time has passed.

It's obvious that I'm in no shape to set out and play Inspector Gadget, but I can’t stop the uneasiness sprouting in my gut at the thought that the others might be in danger.

_My father...I need to find my father…and Elaine…I’m worried about Elaine…_

I crane my neck and dig my elbows into the sand. One final push. I'm almost in an up-right position when my vision starts to blacken around the edges. Within seconds, I'm peering through a tunnel. Colors bleed together like wet paint, and then ultimately start to fade away. My eyelids hurt from being held open for too long. I don't even feel the impact of my body hitting the ground. A blissful, euphoric sensation spreads outward from my chest. Oddly warm. And it's so nice, it's so, so nice. I could lay here forever, stewing in this feeling, dreaming of better days, and...and then a surge of panic jolts me out of my stupor, and I realize that this can only mean one thing.

I must be dying.

No. I don't wanna die. 

_I don't wanna die._

A coolness seeps into my breast - the icy fingers of panic, gripping me, claiming me. I'm too weak to fight back. As my consciousness slips, I open my eyes one last time. Instead of seeing green fronds and blue skies, I'm greeted by the faintest outline of a body standing over me. I hear a voice, _his_ voice, speaking out to me – “McKenna. McKenna.” – and to save myself from confrontation, I let my eyelids fall. 

If _he's_ here, then suddenly death doesn’t seem so terrifying anymore.

~~

**Three Hours Earlier**

"There is no way in hell I am getting on that... _wooden monstrosity_."

Maluhia's face contorts, as if my words have physically wounded her. She stands atop the monstrosity - pardon me, the  _canoe_  - holding an oar in her hands. It looks just like an outrigger canoe, with a support float (or outrigger) fastened to the left side of the hull. Although there's hardly any breeze down here, in this fire-lit cavern that Maluhia brought us to, the sail ruffles as if in yearning. There are other canoes just like this one filling the cavern, with the largest one resting in the center of it all. 

"Wayfinder canoes," Maluhia called them. 

"Wooden monstrosities" or "death traps" is what I call them. 

"I'm sorry." I wave a hand and take a few steps back. "It's not happening. Plain as that."

"I take it you are not a fan of boats?" Maluhia's features smooth into a bemused expression. 

_That's putting it mildly._

I open my mouth to voice my thoughts, but Rayne links her arms around my neck and says, "Oh, _that_ is an understatement, let me tell you. We were on a cruise liner from California to Hawaii, and oh. My. God. It was so freakin' fun! The food was amazing, they had dancers and singers that performed while you ate - they even had a shuffleboard court on deck! I stomped Abdul's ass into the ground, and he got so mad he broke his cue—"

"Yo, I did  _not_."

"Ah, but anyway, we were talking about McKenna's distaste for boats. So, like, on our last night aboard the cruise, Matt had the opportunity to prepare dinner for us alongside the chef. The two of them did a really great job. Although, the stew could have used a bit more salt."

"H-hey!"

"McKenna had two bowls-full – _two_! The next morning, she walked out of her room looking greener than Mike Wazowski from Monsters, Inc.”

At this, Maluhia’s eyes bounce from Rayne’s face to mine and she mouths, “Monsters, Inc.?” As is the case whenever Rayne speaks, I’m too busy feeling dead inside to offer anything more than a casual shrug.

Rayne continues, “She threw up so much into the ocean. It was so gross, it almost made _me_ throw up. And she was super pissed about it, too, because her and Elaine made a bet that she couldn't—"

Corinne slips a hand between Rayne and I, and cups it over her mouth. I remain stock-still as the sandy-haired nuisance is forced off of me. My gratitude is evident in my humongous breath of relief. 

"Shit, that was painful. It's a wonder you haven't bit off your own tongue yet."

Maluhia clears her throat. "That was a, uhm...interesting story, Rayne." Rayne's eyes crinkle in delight. "I can assure you, McKenna, that these canoes are perfectly safe. We stem from a long line of voyagers, the finest the world has ever known. You are all in good hands."

 _It's not the safety part that concerns me_ , I think as my stomach churns. Akoni prepared more of his  _Fa'alifu ulu_  for me this morning - at my request, of course - and the last thing I want to do is barf it up. If I do that, then I'll never want to eat the dish again. And  _that_  is a tragedy I will fight with my all to prevent from happening. 

“I have arranged for us to do a quick sail around the island,” Maluhia says. “Alongside myself and Etu, I have brought one of the best voyagers in the entire village: Ku.”

Ku steps forward at Maluhia’s beckoning and bows his head. He has an incredibly handsome and youthful face, and a square, stocky build. His long, ebony hair is pulled into a side ponytail; the other side of his head is shaved. Like Etu, he wears a necklace of seashells and teeth. A tattoo of a serpent is wrapped around his tight, left calf. Without having to look at her, I know Corinne is buckling at the knees and panting.

“Those traveling with Ku will be Corinne—” Corinne fist bumps the air, “—Abdul, and Matthias. Dominic, Henri, and Richard will be traveling with Etu. And Elaine, Rayne, and McKenna will be traveling with me.”

I'm upset by the fact that I won't be traveling with Dominic; I had a hard time sleeping last night, so I allotted my time to coming up with different interrogative methods I could use to get him to spill his secrets.

And even if I wanted to, I couldn't ask Maluhia for a group change: without wasting any time, she and the two men grab the ropes and pull the canoes toward the curtain of water at the opposite side of the cavern. Dominic and Dad rush forward to help. The rest of us, after a brief moment of deliberation, pitch in behind the canoes and push. 

I brace myself as we go through the waterfall. To my surprise, it isn't pelting, doesn't bring me to my knees, or rip the skin off my body. (No, I did not think it would do that... _shut up_.) If anything, it feels exactly like a regular shower. Set on temperature  _subzero_. 

"Ho, mama, that's _cold_." Abdul pats dry his shoulders and curses. His skin is extremely sensitive to the cold, as I learned our first day on the island. You know, when he threw himself into the ocean like a maniac? I didn't mention it before, 'cause it didn't really matter, but he got real sick the day after. Sneezed and hacked the whole way through our tour of the village. 

"A-are you all right, Abdul?" Matt says in an incredibly adorable and somewhat doting fashion. I'm not the only one who thinks so: Abdul's cheeks darken. 

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm cool. No worries."

We continue pushing the canoes through the channel to the ocean. When we reach the open water, Maluhia calls for us to quickly climb aboard.

_Now's my chance._

I retrieve my hands and leap backwards, at the same time everyone makes a mad dash to climb aboard their assigned canoes. A giddy, smug smile forms on my face. Elaine, scurrying to get her bearings, glances my way. Sees that I'm still on land. Her mouth forms an infuriated O, but I'm too busy laughing and dancing a little jig to feel guilty for acting out in such a puerile manner. 

There's no way I'm riding on one of those death traps. It's just not happening. It's not—

"This is getting rather old, McKenna." 

Before I can book it back to shore, Dominic's arm links around my waist and I'm thrown over his shoulder. I'm too shocked to pound his back with my fists, like any sensible person in my position would do. I could have sworn I saw him climb aboard Etu's canoe...

What the actual fuck? 

Not only is he a man of many secrets, he's also a  _friggin'_ _teleporter_?

 _I just can't win with these people_.

If sprinting in knee-high water was a sport, Dominic would take Gold. Like, holy crap. He sets me down on Maluhia's canoe beside Elaine, my feet dangling over the side into the water. Shooting me another one of his infamous winks, he waddles back to Etu's canoe and hauls himself up with my father's help. I cross my arms, jut my lower lip, and glare heatedly at his broad back, not caring in the slightest if he sees. Elaine bumps my shoulder and whispers, "Bitch, you thought," into my ear. I raise a hand to her back and push. She shrieks and wraps herself around my waist, mumbling an apology. 

"Trust me, McKenna. You're in safe hands." Maluhia says behind us. We turn our heads to see her pulling loose one of the ropes attached to the sail. The sail expands, catching hold of the wind, and the canoe lurches. Elaine and I scramble to the center, wrapping ourselves around the mast. Maluhia chuckles. "You three are lucky. I've been told that my sailing is the smoothest in all of Motunui."

"M-my stomach will be the judge of that," I tell her. 

She laughs, a deep-bellied, head thrown back sort of laugh, and dips her oar into the water. As if the expression were a cue, the canoe lurches again. We're moving as fast, if not a couple knots faster, than Lani's speedboat. The waves within the reef swell to a good three feet, and unlike previous boating trips where we slap straight down, the canoe dips gracefully. Gently. I imagine this is what it must feel like to ride on Aladdin's magic carpet. 

"WOOOOOH!" Rayne, sitting criss-cross applesauce at the front of the canoe, raises her hands as we rise over a nearly five foot wave. 

Maluhia, holding tight to her rope, grips the oar's shaft and angles it to the right. The boat tips to the left as a reaction. The boom grazes the tops of our heads. It isn't long until we're sailing smoothly over quasi-flat waters, a good three to four hundred yards from the island. Motunui is just as beautiful as the day we arrived. Its beauty almost distracts me from the fact that I'm on yet another boat. Almost. 

"Feeling sick yet?" Maluhia asks. 

I lick my salted lips. "Not really, no."

"Good." She takes a knee, rope wrapped around her forearm. Hand steady on the oar. Hair whipping freely behind her. A queen on her throne, she appears. I wish I could find it in myself to feel at ease.

Ten seconds pass. Elaine and I pry ourselves away from the mast and sit with our legs crossed on either side of the canoe. Etu and Ku's canoes follow right on our heels. Aboard Etu's boat, my father is gesticulating wildly, and pointing at different parts of the canoe; Dominic is watching him as if he sprouted a third head; Richard is pining; Corinne is busy flirting with Ku, who is doing a remarkable job keeping his eyes on Maluhia's canoe; and Abdul is trying to calm Matt down, as he, like me, is not a fan of boats. The last face my gaze falls on is Maluhia. My body tenses. She's still staring at me, her forehead creased in thought.

"McKenna," she says, slowly, "a word, please?"

I glance timidly at Elaine. She frowns. Raises her shoulders. Gives me that stupid, "I don't know, you're on your own," look. 

"A-all right." On uncertain and unsteady hands and knees, I crawl toward Maluhia and sit before her. Her eyes are cast on the vast expanse of ocean ahead. We haven't even started this conversation, and I'm already experiencing a weird sense of Déjà vu. 

"What all did you hear last night?" She asks. 

The question spurs a series of hot-and-cold flashes up and down back. I shift uncomfortably. I want to reply with something witty and sarcastic, or even pretend to play dumb. But the words have knotted themselves up into a pretty little ball in my throat. Maluhia turns her attention from the ocean to my fingers, drumming nervously atop my thighs. In her eyes, I see that she anticipated this to be my response. 

"I saw you," she says, voice low, so as not to raise suspicion in Elaine or Rayne. "I saw you jump behind the tree. You were coming up to get me, right?" The question is rhetorical, so I don't reply. Her eyelids droop, and she chuckles. It's a sound devoid of humor. "I haven't known you for very long, but I do know this: you're trustworthy. So...I'm going to tell you a secret about your friend, Mr. Wyman. And I need you to promise me that you won't bring it up to anyone. Especially your father. It would crush him if...if he knew the truth."

Huh.

Don't get me wrong, I'm enthralled by what Maluhia is telling me. It's just...I had envisioned in my mind what it would be like to get the answers to these questions swirling about in my head _myself_. It made me feel hopeful. Elated. Energized. 

Between you and me, I was really looking forward to making Dominic squirm. Knocking him out with a bludgeon. Tying him up to a chair. Forcing a spotlight over his head and pegging him with a multitude of personal questions about his grandfather. The whole shebang. I was looking forward to being an interrogator. 

...wow. Sadistic much?

"Your friend, Mr. Wyman," Maluhia begins, "is not the man you think he is."

"What does that mean?"

"Your friend...he is—"

" _Chief_!"

Maluhia launches to her feet. She whips around toward Etu and Ku's canoes. Etu is the one who called out to Maluhia; Ku is flailing his arm behind him. All of our gazes simultaneously shift in the direction of the island.

Or, more rather, they shift to the raging, billowing mass of storm clouds _rolling over_ the island. 

"Where the fuck did those come from?!" Abdul shouts. 

"No time for questions," Maluhia tells him. "Everyone, grab onto something!" 

Elaine, Rayne, and I have the same idea and wrap ourselves around the mast - and each other. Maluhia races toward the bow of the canoe. She loops the rope in her hands around one of the wooden beams in the hull - to keep the sail steady, by the looks of it - and then, gripping a second rope attached to the top of the mast, she  _ground pounds_ the front of the canoe with her feet. The three of us wrapped around the mast scream and cry out as the back end of the canoe is heaved up off the water, which is growing increasingly malevolent, and spins in a quick 180 toward the channel we emerged from. Based on the cries and yells coming from the other canoes, I gather that Etu and Ku have just performed the same asinine maneuver. 

"This is not good...this is not good." Maluhia returns to the back of the canoe. "Etu! The scouts on the windward side...why didn't they warn you that there was a storm coming?"

"I don't think this is just _any_ storm, Chief," he replies.

More knowing exchanging with the eyes. More hidden meanings. More secrets, stacking one atop the other like pancakes. And to tell you the truth, I've had just about enough of it.

"What does he mean by that?" I ask. Maluhia is glaring down at the water. I don't think she even heard me. The clouds reach us, blotting the sun entirely and turning this beautiful day to deep night. We're still a long ways from the channel, and the sudden downpour that bombards our faces and shoulders feels like tiny glass bullets. Still, I rise to my feet, arms trembling around the mast, and yell, "What the fuck does he mean by that, Maluhia?"

Maluhia shakes her head. "What are you planning...?"

She isn't speaking to me. 

"Mal—"

I lunge toward the Chieftain, at the same time a jagged bolt of lightning strikes the water, an arms' length away from our canoe. A violent wind seizes our sail, sending us careening further from the channel and out to sea. The boom smacks my left hip, so hard that, for a second, I thoroughly believe the bone is shattered. I stagger, hands cupping my side. And with nothing to hold onto, it's no surprise that when the canoe is stricken by a gigantic wave, I go tumbling overboard. 

The last thing I remember is smacking the cold surface of the water, and Elaine's piercing wail, before my world succumbs to darkness. 

~~~

If the person carrying me doesn't stop running soon, I swear to God, I'm going to throw up.

My body sways side to side, my head hanging limp over the mysterious persons' muscly forearm. Granted, the motion isn't as bad as the rigorous rocking and lurching we endured on Maluhia's canoe, but still. Major barf-o-rama inbound. 

Through parted lips, I utter what my muddled brain takes to mean, "Stop running, you idiot." In reality, it's nothing more than a broken moan. I didn't expect it to be effective, but the person holding me slows to a reasonable pace. They lift me higher, so that my head rolls inward and my cheek lays over their chest. Their extremely broad, solid-as-a-boulder chest. Covered in a...mountainous amount of curly hair that tickles my nose. 

"Good. You're alive. I was beginning to worry."

Okay. So, my rescuer is _definitely_ a male. Either that, or an incredibly masculine woman with a severe case of Man Hands. 

I pry my eyelids apart, breaking the seal of crust and blinking away the sand. Wherever we are, it's dark - it isn't "Motunui in the dead of night" dark, but it's pretty damn dark. My senses are overwhelmed by the cawing of various birds, the tickle of leaves against my legs, the scent of rotted vegetation, lingering sea salt, and something earthy. Musky. It's an odd combination of smells, but I find comfort in the latter. 

"Quick, tell me what your name is."

I blink again and turn my attention to my rescuer. The first thing I notice about him are his eyes: a dazzling chocolate brown, speckled with amber and gold, and a black ring around the iris. Average as they might appear to some people, they stop my breathing altogether. It takes me to the point of light-headedness to remind myself to breathe in, breathe out. I continue my sweep of his round face. Thick, full lips. A cute, piggish nose. Slight pudginess to the cheeks. Eyebrows thick and bushy as two caterpillars. There are lines etched deep into his forehead and around his eyes -  _a_ _nd he has dimples_. I'm a sucker for dimples. Don't ask me why, I have no idea. His black, voluminous hair is pushed back from his forehead, and runs over his shoulders.

He's hot. With a capital H-O-T. 

And even though I'm keenly aware of the fact that we've never met, I recognize him.

He's looking at me expectantly, and I realize then that he ordered me to do something. Problem is, I was too busy openly ogling his face, and I have no idea what he said. 

"Uhm...what?"

"Close enough."

The man picks up his pace again, to a steady jog this time. It's bearable. I'm caught in a state of wanting to bury my face in his hair, and wanting to claw out his eyeballs. For all I know, he could be some...sick, demented pervert, whisking me off to some remote cave.

But...nah. I can't explain it: he doesn't strike me as the type of guy who would do something that horrific. Even though he's big enough, and more than capable. 

"Where...where are...?"

"Shh, shh. Don't try talking. You puked all over the place when I first tried to pick you up...the last thing I need you doing is getting all that grossness in my hair. It takes _immense skill_ to keep it this silky, I'll have you know."

 _It_ does _feel pretty nice..._

"See? You agree."

Anxiety tickles the base of my neck. My first thought is, _Is he a mind reader_ , but then I process the fact that I've just buried myself deeper into his hair. My cheekbones flare with heat, and I pull away. He chuckles, his chest rumbling. The vibrations remind me of the speakers Richard installed in the Plymouth. Sans the velvety pipes of Jon Bon Jovi - the only artist in the world Elaine and I share a strong passion for. 

I give myself permission to be vulnerable. If this guy wanted to murder me or rape me, he would have done so by now. I close my eyes and let myself drift. 

In and out of consciousness I fade; jostled awake by the mans' harsh movements, then lulled to sleep by the steady sound of his heartbeat. There's no equilibrium here, and it's beginning to irk me. 

The fifth time I awake, it isn't because the man shifted his hold of me, or cursed loudly because he stubbed his toe on a root. I'm awakened by the sun. I raise my arm and throw it over my eyes, grumbling incoherently. The sound of waves lapping at the shore resonate in my ears. Back on the beach is the last place I want to be. I think I'm becoming beach-intolerant, if you can believe it. 

But then I hear the sound of voices. Familiar voices. 

_Dad...Elaine..._

Shielding my eyes, I scour the beach and try to pin down the direction the voices are coming from. I find them, huddled together next to Ku's canoe. The poor boat is battered all to pieces: the mast is broken in half, the sail is ripped, and there's a deep rift carved through the side of the hull. They're formed in a semi-circle around two people, one of which is laying flat on their back; the other person hovers over them on their knees, wiping a damp cloth over their forehead. 

A cloth that, I discern, is stained red.

My stomach lodges in my throat. As we move closer, the features of the person laying on the sand become clear. 

It's Elaine. And her face is covered in blood. 


	9. Aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for two things: the delay of this chapter, as well as the shortness! I've been absolutely weighed down with homework for college...not to mention I bought Fallout 4 the other day, and have not been able to stop playing. Like, I'm seriously considering writing a story about John freakin' Hancock now...woof. Who knew I had a thing for Ghouls, eh? Hehe...
> 
> McKenna's Playlist >> Shuffle: 
> 
> Your Life - Stephen  
> Love For That - Mura Masa

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Take it easy."

Anxiety purges my veins like molten lava. It rises like steam out of every pore, drawing beads of sweat that trickle down the base of my neck. The clothes on my body are too damp in most places, too itchy in others. My fingers are twitching, although I have no clue as to why. I've yet to take my eyes off of Elaine's face - her blood-smeared, pale face. Her lips are parted. Hair is glued to her cheekbones via ocean water and blood. And her eyelids are shut tight, as if in a deep, peaceful sleep.

From where we stand, it's hard for me to tell if she's breathing.

_The red is running through the crevices toward my feet, I'm screeching at the tops of my lungs, it hurts, everything hurts, and I'm not sure where she came from, but Elaine is here, and she won't stop vomiting, and the whole place reeks of metal and puke, and I'm seven years old all over again and begging, Please, if there is a God, then please, stop this, stop it, don't do this to me again, not again, not—_

_Get a grip, McKenna._

I drive the heels of my palms into the man's chest, wriggling and squirming to try and free myself from his hold. Fatigue adds weight to my bones. When I finally roll free of his arms, gravity pulls at me, as if I just took a flying leap off of a skyscraper; and when I hit the ground, the breath whooshes out of me, and I become more aware of the pain in my hip, now bordering on severe. The man is speaking to me in a low, soft-spoken voice - his beefy hand comes to rest between my shoulder blades, and I shiver - but Elaine's wail from earlier is set on a loop, playing over and over in my brain.

I need to get to her. I _have_ to get to her.

"Get away from me," I snarl, reaching around to swat at his arm.

The man doesn't move. He grips my elbows and gently pulls me to my feet instead.

"Let go...I said LET GO." Vision tinted red with fury, I bunch my fingers into a tight ball, cock my arm, and let my fist fly toward his jaw.

This isn't me. I know that. This isn't how I should be responding, least of all to the man who, for all intents and purposes, saved my life.

But Elaine is...Elaine...

The man is virtually unfazed by my efforts. If anything, the delivery of my punch probably felt like being hit by a nice, cool, fluffy pillow - he didn't flinch or jerk away from the blow _at all_. Those intense, beautiful eyes are drawing me in. Calculating and cool. Drilling deep into my eyes, into my soul. His lips are drawn into a grim frown.

Something about this look he's giving me is... _frightening_. It stirs up a beehive in my belly. The panic spreads outward, raising the hairs and the flesh on my arms. Tears well up in my eyes. My legs are quivering. Whatever strength I had left to stand on my own is gone after that punch.

I massage the ache in my wrist - I might as well have punched a fucking _cinder block_ \- and bow my head in shame, whispering a pathetic, "Please...h-help me."

The man's mouth uplifts in the right corner. Wordlessly, he dips down and scoops me up into his arms again, carrying me across the beach to the rest of the group. I hook an arm around his thick, bulging neck and fist a handful of his hair. Odd as it may be, it's the only thing keeping me grounded at the moment. The silky, smooth feel of it between my fingers calms my ragged breathing. Stills the tears burning up the back of my throat. I close my eyes and let the temporary peace flow through me.

"Hey...hey! It's McKenna! Guys, he found her."

I never once imagined, not even in my wildest nightmares, that I would find comfort in hearing Rayne's dumb, shrill voice.

Yet here I am.

Rayne, looking about as miserable as I feel, grabs Abdul by the forearm and drags him away from the group. Both of them are covered from head to toe in sand and sea foam. Their clothes are ripped and tattered in several places. Rayne has a massive welt on her cheek, which practically seals her eye shut, and a blood spot staining the collar of her shirt. Abdul's left pant leg is rolled up, revealing a series of makeshift bandages around his calf.

Upon seeing my puffy eyes and splotchy red face, Abdul murmurs a soft, "Ah, baby girl," and holds up his arms to take me. The gesture solidifies my respect, affection and gratitude for him all at once. But...

My grip around the man's neck becomes vise. Desperate.

"I...I—"

"It's all right. I've got her." The man says in my place. I glance up at him. He offers me a warm, knowing grin. One that lights a flame in my core and has the tips of my toes tingling. I nod my head and knot more hair around my fingers.

Abdul's face falls in displeasure at our collective decision, but he steps back and lets the man through. Rayne falls into step with him, reaching out her hand to pat my knee. I'm in perfect position to kick her if I wanted to. As she opens her mouth and begins speaking, I almost do.

But behind that spritely façade, I can see every ounce of fear she felt, and must still be feeling, in her eyes. It was in Abdul's, too, masked by the relief of seeing me...well... _alive_.

What we went through out there on the water...the storm that hit us...it's enough to traumatize a body for life. I'd be more concerned if Rayne still had her quote-end-quote _humor_ intact after something like that. But more importantly, I think it struck a chord inside us. Made us all aware of the fragility of things.

Of the fragility of _life_.

The closer we get to Elaine, the more apparent it becomes that she is, in fact, breathing. Her chest rises and falls with each languid breath. Which is a _gigantic_ relief.

Maluhia is the one kneeling at her side, swiping and pressing the cloth to my sister's forehead to stanch the bleeding. The wound itself, a cut that runs from her hairline to her temple, isn't even that deep. There's just a shit-ton of blood flowing out of it. But I'd heard that head wounds tend to look a lot worse than they actually are. So, again, another relief.

"Maluhia." The man addresses the Chieftain in a manner that reads, very clearly, that the two are definitely _not strangers_.

Maluhia snaps her head up, squinting. She does a quick up-down assessment of the two of us. A tautness I hadn't noticed before seeps from her muscles, and she says, "Thank the gods you found her. I was...we were all beginning to worry that you might be..." She shakes her head.

I jerk my chin and say, "Elaine?"

"She's all right," Maluhia says. She folds the cloth and presses the clean(er) side to Elaine's forehead. "We hit a batch of rocks about a half a mile down the shorefront. It's a miracle we made it out with only minimal injuries."

I let the man’s hair slip through my fingers and lean sideways. He takes the hint and drops to one knee, setting me down next to Elaine. I extend a wobbly arm and grab her hand. It’s cold, despite the heat of the sun hanging directly over us. At the contact, her fingers twitch.

“What…happened out there?”

“A gnarly fuckin’ storm. _That’s_ what happened.” Corinne finally speaks up. She and Matt are seated in the curvature of a sand dune. Matt is wound into a tight ball, and Corinne is holding her head clasped between her hands. She peeks out from behind her forearm and glares at Maluhia. “Well? Go on, then. Tell her what you told us.”

I furrow my brow and pin Maluhia with a questioning stare. She shifts uncomfortably, picking at the hem of her _lavalava_.

“Maluhia…?”

“The storm…” She sucks in a deep breath. “Etu’s scouts on the windward side of the island failed to report back to us before we set sail. I…I’m sorry…I didn’t know this would happen…this wasn’t supposed to happen…”

My mouth closes before I can say the two words everyone ought to be thinking right now: “You’re lying.”

Based on the doom-and-gloom auras radiating off of everyone and the overabundance of withering scowls, I know that I hadn’t been the only one who heard the mysterious exchange between Maluhia and Etu right before hell descended upon us. _“I don’t think this is just_ any _storm, Chief.”_ That’s what Etu had told her. And the skepticism on her face, the way she whispered to the ocean, “What are you planning…?” The memory is still a bit hazy, but I know for a fact that I hadn’t imagined any of it. None of us had.

And I think – no, scratch that: _I believe_ she knows it.

So why try to cover it up?

“Ha! You know what, _Chief_? That’s the first thing you’ve said so far that I agree with.” Corinne rockets to her feet, startling Matt. Her fists are clenched, her eyes are squinty, and she’s wearing this maniacal, crooked grin. “This _wasn’t_ supposed to happen. _None of this_!” She flails her arm to gesticulate our current situation. “We came for one reason, and one reason only—”

“Corinne,” Abdul says in a warning tone.

“—and that is to find the stupid Heart of Te Fiti. And when we get back to the island, you are going to take us to it, whether you like it or not—”

“C-Corinne,” Matt whispers, “m-maybe you shouldn’t—”

“ _Oh, s-shut up, you d-damn faggot_ ,” Corinne hisses.

A guttural sound, raw and animalistic, leaves the back of Abdul's throat. He lunges for her. The two engage in a heated scuffle, fists flying, hands snatching at hair, each grounding out a slew of curses that would make a sailor want to take a plunge into a vat of Holy Water. Rayne is frozen stiff, watching the fight erupt with wide eyes. And Matt...poor guy...unable to contain himself, he burries his face in the crook of his arm and bawls. The fat-teared, pouty-lipped, dribbly snot kind.

It's a fat, ugly _mess_.

"Guys...that's en—" I tilt my body to stand, but simply putting weight on my left leg sends a shock of pain straight to my hip. I suck air in through clenched teeth and freeze, waiting for the pain to subside. Overcome with desolation, I glance up at the man who saved me, hoping that he'll read my mind and come to my rescue again.

Hands on his hips, he's watching the two go at it excitedly - and slightly amused - as one would if they were witnessing two hamsters duking it out over a piece of food.

When he catches my glare, he shrugs as if to say, _What would you have me_ _do?_

I roll my eyes and sink back to the sand. Maluhia's head is lowered, her hair serving as a black curtain to hide her face. The hand holding the piece of cloth to Elaine's forehead is trembling.

I sigh. Nothing makes sense, and maybe it won't for a while, but whatever reasons Maluhia and her people have for hiding things from us must obviously be of great important. And if she trusted me enough to begin that conversation about Dominic, then I have no doubt in my mind that she'll trust me enough to tell me the truth - not only about Dominic, but about _everything_ \- in due time.

For now, I take pity on her, and hold up my hand to accept the cloth. Without raising her head, she places it on my palm, mumbles a brief, "Thanks," and joins Ku at his canoe.

My stomach rolls with unease as a droplet of blood trails from the soaked cloth down the underside of my forearm. I push it aside for now, folding it until I get a clean corner, and—

Elaine's hand, which had previously been locked tight within mine, snaps upward, her fingers clasping my wrist. Her lids peel back to reveal two brilliantly blue eyes. There are no words I can use to express my happiness to see them, bright and vibrant and whole. I lean in, smiling so wide my cheeks hurt, and tell her, "Hey, you. Don't worry. You're safe. It's only a head—"

Before I can finish, she releases my wrist and points over my shoulder.

Her lips move, but all that comes out is a shallow breath. I lean closer, following the path of her finger. Straight to the mans' face.

"What did you say?" I ask.

Her breath is hot on my cheek. Inhaling briskly, she says once more, in a strained voice, " _Maui_."

My pulse quickens, and my blood runs cold. The name draws a familiar hum throughout my body. Abdul and Corinne, as if sensing the shift in the atmosphere, pause in their skirmish. I can feel Maluhia's gaze on my shoulder, a hot, deadening weight.

The man starts in shock.

"She told me...you would come," Elaine whispers. Her arm falls limp at her side. She closes her eyes - and then she laughs. "She...she told me you would come...and she was right. She was right about _everything_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I apologize for the shortness of this chapter. Things are a wee bit hectic at the moment, but I'm really looking forward to the next chapter. We'll learn a bit more about Modern-day Maui, and there will be some cute, witty back and forth banter/bonding moments between him and McKenna. It'll be a fun time.
> 
> Speaking of which, what do we think of Maui so far? I know he's a bit OOC (out of character) at the moment, but trust me, he'll be back to his old, sarcastic self soon enough. 
> 
> Oh, and we'll get a visit from Mini Maui, too. No worries.


	10. Believe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, people. Important announcement time. Summer is drawing to a close (*weeps in Spanish*), and school is about to start back up again, so everyone is going to be pretty busy soon. I'm taking 18 hours this fall semester (like, why am I doing this? Is is worth it? Probably not) and because of that, I probably won't have a whole lot of time on my hands to write. But I promise you guys that I will do my absolute best. Updates for this story will be coming out once - and depending on my schedule, maybe even twice - a month. 
> 
> The good news is, I'm already working on the next chapter, so it should be up sometime next week. This chapter turned out a lot longer than I intended it to, so I had to break it up into two parts. The next one will pick up right where this one leaves off. I hope this one wasn't too boring for you guys. 
> 
> Thank you all so much for your patience and support for this story. It means the world to me. <3<3<3
> 
> McKenna's Playlist >> Shuffle:
> 
> Grow - Chymes  
> We Don't Eat - James Vincent McMorrow  
> Brick by Brick - Arctic Monkeys

_Today, Mrs. Doane is wearing a pair of seven-inch, grass-green, python-embossed heels._

_I stare fixedly at them as I hand her my journal. There are many thoughts running amok in my head right now – not all of them about Mrs. Doane’s exotic taste in footwear – but the most recurring one is: How could_ any _woman possibly find comfort in a pair of shoes that lift you almost a full foot off the ground? She looks as if she has two permanent Charlie horses in her calves._

_“So,” Mrs. Doane says. “Who did you write about this week, McKenna?”_

_Her voice is caramel-sweet and tender. Unlike Ms. Beecher’s voice, which is whispery, fake, and just downright mocking. It’s, as Elaine would say, “Condescending. C-O-N-D-E-S-C-E-N-D-I-N-G. Condescending.”_

_She’s studying for the National Spelling Bee._

_I slump my shoulders and scuff the carpet with my foot. “Nobody.”_

_“Nobody?” Mrs. Doane flips through the empty pages. Her forehead creases in concern. “Why not?”_

_Last week, she wore a pair of heeled sandals that looked as if they had been manufactured by a factory of kindergartners: they had a high, zebra-striped back, an orange sole, a leather orange-and-black checkered counter, and glittery straps around the ankles and toes that sparkled like a chandelier under direct sunlight._

_“McKenna?”_

_Now that I think about it, it’s been seven months since we started seeing Mrs. Doane, and I’ve yet to see her wear the same pair of shoes twice. She must be very rich if she can do something like that._

_I glance down at my own shoes. I’ve had the same pair of sneakers for little over a year now; the cap over the toes is covered in grass smudges, dried mud and doodles, variously colored with markers that my best friend Victor let me borrow._

_Sorry. My_ ex _-best friend Victor._

 _Mrs. Doane sighs. “All right. I’ll let it slide this time, sweetie. But next week, I expect those pages to be filled out._ Front and back _, understand?”_

_She returns the journal to me and lays her hand on top of my head. I catch a whiff of her perfume; its aroma parallels what I can only describe to be a spring meadow on a warm summer evening. For the moment, I close my eyes and breathe it in. I remember plains of high sun-bleached grass and flowers braided by their stems into crowns. Fireflies twinkling in mason jars. Running around and around the trunk of a droopy white willow, its bark coated in a semitransparent webbing – a protective barrier to keep the tree safe from harmful parasites, or so my father used to say._

_And more than anything, I remember lying next to Elaine on a blanket, our fingers entwined, soaking up the last few drops of the setting sun as_ she _whisked us away to dreamland with hymns of an unfamiliar language…_

_Tears prick the back of my eyes. Panic rises to a crescendo in my chest. I’ve let myself indulge far too much._

_I flinch away from Mrs. Doanes’ hand, belly churning with sickness, and clutch my journal to my chest._

_“Elaine. It’s your turn.” Without batting an eyelash at my reaction – I think she’s gotten used to me flinching away from her affectionate gestures – Mrs. Doane steps toward my sister, who is busy running over her list of words._

_So busy, Mrs. Doane has to repeat her name_ three times _._

_“Huh? Oh. Here.” Elaine fishes her journal out of her backpack and places it in Mrs. Doanes’ hand. “Equestrian. E-Q-U…”_

_While Mrs. Doane flips through Elaine’s journal, I lean back against the plush pillows of the sofa and draw my knees to my chest, eyes glued to the ceiling fan._

_I want to go home. I don’t want to come to this stupid place anymore. Dad says that our weekly appointments with Mrs. Doane are helping us. He’s promised us, time and time again, that the activities she gives us are going to “take our minds off of things.” Help us to heal. But ever since we started this new journaling activity – we’re supposed to write about the people in our lives, and whether or not they’ve impacted us positively or negatively – I’ve done nothing_ but _think about all the things I shouldn’t be thinking about._

_I’ve started having nightmares again. Last night, I dreamed that I was swimming in the ocean with a pod of pink-and-blue dolphins. They were very nice, going out of their way to caress my cheek with their fins. Instead of clicking and whistling, they sang beautiful melodies. The stars were out, the moon shined over us, and the water gave off this bioluminescent glow that made my skin tingle._

_For the first time in seven months, I was finally having a good dream._

_Then the dolphins disappeared._

_The moon started to bleed. The stars dropped out of the sky. The waves became violent and the water an inky black. A chain wrapped itself around my ankles, and no matter how hard I thrashed, no matter how hard I fought, it continued to pull me down, down, down. Deep into the bottomless pit of nothing._

_I awoke with my hand pressed against my throat, gasping for air, tears plastering my cheeks like a warm paste. My bottom felt damp; I’d wet the bed, and while I sat shivering in the bathtub, I listened to my fathers' disappointed mumbling as he threw my sheets into the washing machine._

_Seven months. It’s been seven months since we started seeing Mrs. Doane, and if bed-wetting qualifies as “healing,” then I guess I’m doing just fine._

_Sometimes I wish I was like Elaine. She started healing around week four. Now, these sessions have become more of an obligation for her; the only reason she even comes anymore is because Dad doesn’t want me to do this alone. He’s…_ afraid _of what I’ll do if she isn’t around._

_And if I'm to be perfectly honest with myself, I am, too._

_“Oh!”_

_I jerk forward at Mrs. Doanes' gasp of surprise. Elaine raises her chin but not her eyes. Her lips continue to spell out words._

_Mrs. Doane is holding Elaine’s journal in shaking, white-knuckled hands. Her face is so pale it makes her platinum blonde hair look dark. She peers over the rim of the journal to Elaine, then from Elaine to me._

_I say, “Mrs.—”_

_Mrs. Doane slaps the journal shut, plops it on the surface of her desk, and steps around the desk toward her phone. I can tell she’s nervous because she knocks her hip against the corner. She picks up the phone, and I watch, head tilted, as she quickly dials a number. A few seconds later, I hear her whisper, “Mr. Wolford…”_

_Why would she need to call Dad?_

_I glance at Elaine, who remains completely oblivious to the things happening around her._

_Setting my journal down, I push off of the sofa and tip-toe toward Mrs. Doanes’ desk. She has her back turned to us, facing the window, and her hand is cupped around her mouth. She’s speaking softly, but hurriedly, into the phone. Quiet as a mouse, I reach out and pick up Elaine’s journal, flipping to her most recent entry._

_I blink._

_I’m not sure why Mrs. Doane reacted the way she did: there’s nothing remotely frightening about it. This week, she decided to write about some kid in her class named Francine, a pig-tailed girl who apparently smells like pickle juice and smacks her gum when she talks. I peer at Mrs. Doane, to make sure she’s still facing the other way, and turn the page—_

_The AC unit under the window kicks on with a resounding rumble. Mrs. Doane starts, dropping the phone. She curses. Normally, I would have a similar reaction._

_But not today._

_Because scrawled into the pages in black permanent marker are the words:_

_**She came to me again in my dream** _

_**Her voice is so lovely** _

_**It reminds me of mommy** _

_**She held me in her arms and whispered, “You are so special to me”** _

_**And she showed me many wonderful things** _

_**And shared with me many wonderful truths** _

_**I know in my heart, and in my mind, and in my soul, without a doubt** _

_**That she is right** _

_**She is right about everything** _

~~~

“Yo, Mc-Frowny-Kens. Heads up.”

Maui’s voice, oddly chipper given our current situation, propels me out of my daydream. Blinking rapidly, I look up.

“Wha’?”

_Whap!_

The frond he’d been holding back slips free of his hand and smacks my face dead-center. A pins-and-needles sting explodes outward, from the bridge of my nose to the base of my throat. I shriek, hands shooting out in front of my body as a reflex, swatting at and karate-chopping the frond.

Ahead of me, the man is laughing so hard he has to lean against the trees’ trunk to keep himself upright.

 _Sigh_.

Maluhia could have sent _any_ one else with him.

Literally. _Anyone else_.

The fact that she’d chosen me, of all the eligible candidates in our group, to be his traveling buddy had been nothing short of a triumph at first; the prospect of being alone with him charged my body, down to the last strand of hair, with excitement. But now…

Now, I’m two seconds away from removing my shoe and stuffing it down his gullet.

Currently, Maui and I are shouldering our way through a boundless network of low-hanging fronds, trees and waist-high brush. Our job is simple: search for supplies that could help patch up the canoes. And although we weren’t assigned food duty, like Rayne and Abdul, it’s encouraged that we gather anything we come across that’s edible

In the two hours since we left the beach, we’ve managed to scrounge up a bundle of twigs, a dozen hardened clumps of amber-brown sap from an acacia tree (Fun Fact: the sap of the acacia tree, called “acacia gum,” has properties of an adhesive…it’s also edible, so, double score), some banana leaves (sans the bananas, tragically), and two coconuts.

My body is covered in a slick sweat. Truth be told, I’d rather have sweat pooling in unfamiliar places than sand. (Ever had clumps of sand stuck in your crotch before? No? It’s like a yeast infection from _hell_.) Maui, however, isn’t even breathing hard – and we’ve hiked all over this damned island! I’m not sure why he persists so strongly on going farther – we’ve got more than enough to fix the canoes – when he knows I can barely keep up.

I had Abdul take a look at the pain in my hip before we set out on our quest. A bruise, about the size of a softball, spanned over the jut of my hipbone, glaring an angry puce in the sunlight. Abdul is no doctor, but he deduced by a simple Poker Test - that is, he poked the center of the bruise as hard as he could and gauged my reaction, which, hint, was not pretty _or_ kid-friendly - that the bruise goes all the way to the bone.

I wish I was joking. The canoes' mast hit me so hard it _bruised my freaking hipbone_.

Abdul said I shouldn't even be walking on it. Thought it would've been better if Corinne took my place and went with Maui instead.

But unlike the many, many times before, I’m not out here, limping about like a pirate with a peg-leg, completely at the mercy of Maui and his annoying but oh-so attractive face, to prove a point. And before you say anything, _no_ , it’s also _not_ because the idea of Corinne waltzing into the forest alone with Maui made me jealous. It _did not_ make my skin hot and crawly, nor did it make my chest swell like a balloon with panic. The mental image of a moon-lit Maui pressing Corinne against a palm tree and hitching her leg over his waist _did not_ make me want to equal parts vomit and strangle somebody.

No, no. Jealousy, albeit sudden and juvenile, had _nothing_ to do with it.

‘Cause, you know, it would be ridiculous for me to be jealous – _I don’t own Maui_. Sure, I may feel some crazy sense of familiarity when I’m with him. And yeah, okay, he’s attractive. Still doesn’t change the fact that he isn’t mine. He isn’t anyone’s. Besides, Corinne’s seemingly infinite string of one-night-stands typically follow a pattern. A pattern which Maui doesn’t follow.

So, what real rhyme or reason would I possibly have to be…

Wow. I am totally getting off track. That’s…never happened before… _awkward_.

Right. We were talking about my reason for being out here. I’m not doing this to prove a point, _nor_ am I doing this to satiate my non-existent-but-at-the-same-time-slightly-existent jealousy. I’m out here because Elaine has a fever. A _high_ fever. And if we don’t fix the canoes and get her back to Motunui A-S-A-P to let Ona treat her, she could die.

I can’t just sit back and let that happen. What kind of sister would I be if I did?

Answer: _An incredibly shite one_.

“Was that…really necessary?” I ask. I shove the frond away and drag a hand down my face to erase the sting.

Maui shrugs, wiping his eye. “I thought it was funny.”

“I hate to break it to you, _Maui_ , but your conception of the word ‘funny’ is shitty. And painful."

“Come on. I was trying to cheer you up.”

“And you failed. Royally. _Congratulations_.”

“Oh, would you just…” Maui stops walking. His shoulders drop, and he heaves a monstrous sigh. I ~~ogle~~ watch as the muscles ripple and flex beneath the creases of his shirt. “Listen.” He pivots around in a half circle, one hand on his hip, the other tangled in his hair. “Don’t think I don’t get where you’re coming from. Right now, you’re stuck in this place where all you see is red and fear and confusion, and nothing makes sense anymore. Trust me. I’ve been there too many times to count. And if the only way you know how to cope is to be a Class A dick-bag, then please, go right ahead. But don’t expect any sympathy to come from the _one person_ actually putting in the effort to help you.”

Ouch.

That hurts. That hurts a lot. I wouldn’t have expected it to, but it does. The fiery fingers of shame clamp around my stomach like a dogs’ fangs over a chew toy.

On a moral level, he’s right: I’m letting my pessimism and the negativity of our condition get to me. As a result, I’m pushing away the one person – the _only_ person – that, for odd reasons I cannot explain, I want to keep close. He, of all people, doesn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of my temperamental, cold-hearted, melodramatic bullshit. And if there is even the _slightest_ possibility for me to save him from myself, then I’ll do whatever it takes.

Even if it means sucking up my pride and admitting my mistakes.

“You…” I purse my lips tightly and breathe in through my nose. _Don’t you fight, McKenna. Don’t you dare ruin this_. “You…are _so right_. I appreciate everything you’re doing for us…and everything you’ve already done. Really. I’m so… _I’m sorry_."

I exhale a little too forcefully; my brain tingles with dizziness. I hunch forward and place my hands on my knees.

Oh, _God_.

That hurt worse than Maui’s little speech.

Face prickling with heat, I lift my chin and peek at him through my lashes. His thick brows are drawn into a steep V, lips puckered inquisitively. His eyes search mine for any semblance of doubt. He must not find anything of the like, because he crosses his arms over his broad chest and smirks.

“Well. That was easier than I thought it’d be,” he says. I straighten instantly, a nasty retort already swelling on the tip of my tongue. Maui holds up his hands. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. Sheesh. Don’t worry, Frowny. I accept your apology. But, for future reference, just remember this one simple fact: Maui is _always_ _right_.”

He clicks his tongue and winks.

My knees wobble.

“A-all right, _Maui_ ,” I scoff. I shake the jitters out of my legs and stride past him, attempting to commandeer a confidence that I’m severely lacking at the moment. “We’ve already got one Class A dick-bag in the group.” I gesture to myself. “We don’t need another one.”

“Why do you keep doing that?” He asks.

“Doing what?”

“You keep saying my name like that.”

“Like _what_?”

“Like...like you don’t really believe I am who I say I am.”

My heart stutters into my throat. I stumble over nothing, hands snatching at fronds to keep from falling.

 _Crap_. I hadn't intended for my skepticism to be so obvious. In truth, I thought I was doing a pretty good job of hiding it thus far. But Maui...it's just one surprise after another with him. He's able to read me so easily. With him, it's like I'm as open as a picture book.

The only other person who can do that is Elaine, and even _she_ stumbles sometimes.

"What? That's ridiculous. O-of course I believe you."

_Fuck. I stammered. Why the hell did I stammer!?_

“Wait a minute.” I listen to Maui’s slow, heavy footfalls approaching me from behind. When he stops, the heat pouring off of him envelopes me in a strange, but oddly peaceful embrace. He places one hand on my shoulder and leans down. His breath tickles the flesh of my neck, brushes the stray hairs away softly. My nostrils flare. He smells so good. So, _so_ good. His scent alone gives me a high that no other narcotic can match. “By the gods…you don’t believe I’m _Maui_ at all, do you?”

I chance another scoff. It catches in the back of my throat, and I choke.

“ _I knew it_!” Maui springs back, as if the proximity of my body to his physically wounded him.

“What? Do you want a medal?” I throw up my hands. “Yes, okay, I admit it: I don’t believe you’re _the_ Maui.” I turn to face him, only to find that he’s glaring at me, positively infuriated. My eyes widen. “Don’t tell me…" I say. "Did you honestly think I would just _believe_ it? That _any_ of us would?”

The corner of Maui’s mouth tips upward. “Your _sister_ seemed pretty convinced of who I was.”

And just like that, any ounce of regret I had for treating him like shit, any shred of hope I had of saving him from myself - it all flies right out of the meta-fucking-phorical window. I wasn’t seeing red before, but I sure as hell am now. Rage stews like hot coals in my gut. In a span of three seconds, I cross the space between us, standing so close the tips of my shoes overlap his bare toes. Even standing up straight, the top of my head barely reaches his nose. I glare right back at him, matching the hatred swirling in his dark, beautiful eyes with my own.

“My _sister_ ,” I hiss, ”is sick and not in her right mind. And if you talk about her like that again, I won’t hesitate to knock your fucking lights out.”

“You’re cute when you’re angry. You know that?” Maui says.

I clamp my teeth over my lips and stuff my fists deep into my back pockets. I’m trembling, badly, and I haven’t the slightest form of an outlet to vent my frustrations. From the looks of it, Maui knows this; his grin continues to stretch into a wide, taunting smile that reaches his eyes. Before I’m able to do something I know I’ll regret later, I push away from him and continue clobbering my way through the forest. The breath that leaves me is shallow and erratic. My heart is pounding so hard that my vision tremors with each beat.

Of course, after a few minutes of pure, unadulterated bitching, I realize that I have no idea where I’m going. Uttering a string of curses, I whirl. The suddenness of my movement causes the sac on my shoulder, holding all of our supplies inside, to go flying off my arm.

A hand snatches it out of the air well before it hits the ground. I refuse to look up at Maui’s smug face, even as I take the sac from him and return it to my shoulder.

“I’ll only say this once, so pay close attention,” Maui begins. His feet enter my field of vision. He pinches my chin between his beefy thumb and forefinger, and forces my gaze to meet his. “I _am_ Maui,” he whispers, voice low and almost threatening. “And I don’t have to prove myself to you, or anyone else. Understand?”

My lips droop at the corners.

 _McKenna Blaine Wolford_ does not _back down from a challenge._

I wrap my hand around his wrist. More rather, I _try_ to wrap my hand around his wrist: it’s hardly big enough, and my fingers only go halfway around. Whether he’s humoring me or not is an unknown, but I’m able to remove Maui’s hand from my face so I can lean forward. So close that our noses are touching, and we're breathing the same air.

“Yeah. I understand… _Maui_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay for bonding, amiright?


	11. Statues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo, life kinda got in the way. I hate making excuses, but I fell into a bit of a depressive funk last week. I've been struggling with a lot of things for a while, and I guess I just...had a melt-down or something. I couldn't write - didn't want to write - and this entire week, I've been fighting myself to get this chapter done. Not to mention, I've been dealing with preparations for Hurricane Harvey, so that's nice. 
> 
> My point is, the last thing I want to do is force the rest of this story - it's my smol, precious baby - and although I thoroughly enjoyed writing this chapter, I feel like it might come across as a bit too forced, especially toward the end. Hopefully y'all don't see it that way, and I hope, hope, hope you all enjoy. 
> 
> And if by some chance you, like me, are braving Hurricane Harvey this weekend, remember to stay safe and take care of yourselves. 
> 
> Love <3\. 
> 
> McKenna's Playlist >> Shuffle:
> 
> I Like Me Better - Lauv  
> Fading - Vallis Alps  
> MOANA MEDLEY - VoicePlay ft. Rachel Potter (Yeah, this one is mostly for grins and giggles. But they're really good, so go check it if you haven't already!)

Maui's eyes are dark. So dark, I can't even make out the flecks of amber or gold anymore.

The muscles in his cheeks and neck grow taut. The collar of his shirt stretches; I’m beginning to fear it might rip right off of him, like Bruce Banner’s shirt does in _The Incredible Hulk._ (The cartoon, not the movie with Edward Norton, which is sub-par at best, but that's just my opinion). His upper lip twitches into a snarl. I don’t have to break eye contact to know that he’s lodged his fists deep in the pockets of his pants.

I’ve got him wound tighter than an archers’ bowstring, and I couldn’t be prouder.

Now, bear in mind, my goal here is not to intentionally piss him off or make him hate me. 

Ruffle a few feathers? Absolutely. Act like a bitch in the process? No, but every now and then a little bit of sass is necessary.

No. This is more of a lesson than anything else. A lesson he needs to learn right quick and in a hurry: I am _not_ the kind of girl you can just talk down to. I am _not_ the kind of girl you can trample on and abuse, and expect to not fight back.

Not anymore.

A year ago, I would’ve tucked my chin and sputtered out an apology. Tears of fear and humiliation would’ve sprung from my eyes. Simply being this close to a man would have caused me to draw inward, hunch my shoulders and cross my arms, as an act of self-preservation. To keep myself from getting hurt.

To keep myself from giving away my trust willy-nilly, only to have it ripped to bits and tossed recklessly aside.

I am _not_ that insecure girl from a year ago, nor will I _ever_ be her again. I have worked too long and put too much effort into building up my self-esteem, to make myself believe that I am worthy of loving and being loved. To make myself believe that I am important to someone, somewhere.

And if Maui thinks that I’m going to crumple under the weight of his domineering attitude and revert back to being that pathetic nobody I once was, then it’s about time I start proving him wrong.

This time, it’s _my_ turn to smirk.

“Now, then.” I unwrap my fingers from around his wrist and bounce back a couple steps. “We have everything we need to fix the canoes. So, why don’t we just…head back to the beach already?”

My confidence has returned tenfold. My shoulders are set. Spine straight. I’ve got my hands placed on my hips in a manner that reads, “I’m great, and don’t you forget it.”

But my heart – my stupid, traitorous heart – is thumping wildly inside my ribs. And I can tell you for damn sure, it has _nothing_ to do with my anger. All of my senses are swamped with _Maui_ – his scent, his warmth, the timbre of his voice. I didn’t want to admit it at first – I was too ashamed, too embarrassed – but my knees buckled my first few steps backward from him, making me look like a newborn fawn.

The back of my neck feels flushed. Sweat gleams my forehead and upper lip. Hot-to-cold flashes zig-zag up and down my back.

I’d blame it on a fever, but I don’t get sick.

Elaine came down with the flu when she was twelve. It was bad. A “constantly coming out of both ends” bad. Dad had to move her, striped down to the bare minimum, from her room and fix her up nice and comfortable in his bathtub because every single sheet in the house had been "exposed" to her sickness.

I stayed by her side all night long, feeding her cubes of ice and wiping her blood-blushed cheeks with a wet washcloth. I read to her. I fluffed her pillow. I helped Dad change her and wash the sheets. And I held her hand tight and rubbed her back as she vomited into the toilet, murmuring over and over with spittle dangling from her lip, “Make it stop, make it stop.”

Yet, throughout that whole venture, _I_ never got sick. Dad did, and Elaine helped me care for him once she started feeling better – _but I never did_.

Call it impossible if you like, but it’s true: I don’t remember ever being sick a day in my life. The only time I’ve ever come close is when someone puts me on a boat. Then, all bets are off.

_So, what the hell is wrong with me?_

“If I’m gonna be of anymore use to you and your group,” Maui starts, “there’s something I’m gonna need to get.” He sighs and rolls his shoulders. Rubs a hand over his jaw. “I’d tell you to start back on your own, but you don’t know the way. And the last thing I need is you getting lost.”

“I wouldn’t…” I bite my tongue.

Maui’s thick brow arches.

There’s no need for me to keep hopping aboard the Defensive Express. He isn’t belittling me or treating me indifferently. He’s telling the truth: we haven’t created any landmarks – snapped any branches or tied any leaves into knots – that would guide us back to the beach. And we both know that, even if we _had_ , I’d still wind up getting lost.

And that’s just too big of a risk for us to take right now. We don’t have time for that – _Elaine_ doesn’t have time for that.

It’s either Maui’s way, or the highway.

I clear my throat and wrap my arms around my waist. Maui chuckles, his heels scuffing the dirt. He stops an arms’ distance from me. I glance up, half-expecting to see the remnants of his fury present in his blackened eyes, and half-expecting to see no expression at all.

What I _don’t_ expect is this:

Maui, amber and gold rekindled in his eyes, gazing down at me in earnest – his right hand fanned over the crown of my head, fingers tousling my hair. 

The gesture is affectionate. Intimate.

I’m too stunned to do much of anything, except stand there and let it happen. Blood pools in my cheeks and collarbone. Something akin to nausea bubbles in my abdomen, but instead of making me feel like ka-ka-poo-poo, it makes me feel warm and tingly and feather-light. My eyelids flutter. I fight to keep them open.

“We’re almost there, Frowny,” he murmurs. His sudden geniality is striking, a left-handed jab to the gut. The air whooshes from my lungs. “I know your hip hurts, but bear with me a little bit longer.”

We stay like this for maybe a heart-beat too long. Whatever blows our egos have suffered after our brief verbal scuffle are already beginning to heal. He doesn’t have to say the words out loud because we both know the intent: this, right here, is an apology without words. This is where we make our truce. Where we toss aside personal grudges and differences because, really, what good will they do us at a time like this?

Sucking in a deep breath, I close my eyes and focus on the heat (and slight sweatiness) of his palm.

“Okay.” I open my eyes and nod. “Lead the way.”

~~~

It’s nearing sundown when I hear it: the gush of a waterfall, the trickle of a stream.

I momentarily forget about the pain in my hip, bordering on debilitating, and perk my head up, looking to Maui for verification. His lips are set in a firm line, but his eyes are alight with mischief. Somehow, he must have known the _waterfall_ , of all things, would be the thing to spark my interest.

“Are we…?”

Maui nods. He holds out his arm and snatches the low-hanging fronds blocking our path by their stems. “We’re here.” Maui raises the fronds over his head, and as soon as the path is cleared, I’m hit by an orange burst of sunshine, sluggishly descending over the tree-tops.

A whole new world stretches before me, ~~a dazzling place I never knew,~~ pristine and beautiful. I’m hesitant to step forward, fearing that I might taint the very ground I walk on.

At our abrupt entrance, a flock of parakeets, the colors of their feathers reminding me of mangoes, took to the air; I watch them now, mouth agape, as they soar in perfect formation over the palms and acacia trees, which form an ovular bowl around a lush green, moss-covered clearing. A stream carves through the middle of the clearing, like a snake trail in desert sands, the channel disappearing under a tunnel of trees; through the shaded tunnel, I’m able to see the mouth of the river as it pours out into the ocean. The waterfall tumbles into the river from a cliff above, branching off into three separate streams halfway down.

Everywhere I look, red ginger – I recognize the flower right away, from Motunui; Dad told me that they’re native to Samoa, and that they’re the national flower of Samoa as well – hibiscus, and rhododendron bushes are flourishing wonderfully.

And, of course, scattered throughout the clearing are signs of life. Cargo pants and khaki shorts, button-downs, wife-beater tank-tops, socks, and…ahem… _mens’ briefs_ , hanging on clotheslines made of wooden poles and rope. Empty coconut shells and decomposing banana peels. Netting for fishing and baskets weaved out of leaves. A basketball, but no hoop.

And statues. Ranging from a few inches high to nearly six feet tall. Carved out of various stones and woods, of famous landmarks, such as the Eiffel Tower, Christ the Redeemer, etc., and celebrities. Only one of them is sculpted to look like Maui, and it’s a glorification if I ever saw one: his head is raised to the heavens, lips pressed in a cocky grin, bare chest puffed and biceps flexed. Muscles rippled and bulging. I find myself explicitly drawn to the shapeliness of his buttocks.

A glorification, yes. But damned if it ain’t accurate.

“Wow,” I hear myself mutter in praise. “This…this place is amazing!”

I take my first step into the clearing. When I look down and see, not a trail of black and death and destruction, but an innocuous set of foot-prints in the grass, I hobble further in.

Maybe it’s all in my head, or maybe it’s the surreal nature of this place, but the air smells fresher here. Feels cleaner and thinner in my lungs.

I tip my head back. Raise my arms. Place my weight on my right leg and twirl. I giggle despite myself.

It’s like time has reversed itself – I’m a little girl again, bursting with delight and lacking the self-control needed to contain it.

Maui clears his throat.

My cheeks flush. I’d allowed the grandeur of this place to draw me in so deep, I completely forgot he was here. I glue my arms to my sides, grimacing as I set my left foot on the ground, and pivot toward Maui. But the smile, I keep on my face. I just can’t seem to part with it.

He’s already watching me.

He must have been watching me this whole time, because as soon as our eyes meet, he flicks his gaze elsewhere – quickly – and shrugs a shoulder.

“Yeah. It makes for a pretty neat vacation home, I guess.”

“ _Vacation home_?” I blink. “Just where _do_ you live, Maui?”

Another shrug. “Here. There. A little bit of everywhere. For me, home is wherever I am. It’s always been that way, ever since I can remember.”

I’m not sure how Maui can be so flippant with his response. On the one hand, if he really is the great and powerful Demi-God he proclaims to be – and I’m starting to believe he is – then it would make oodles of sense for him to spend his immortal life traveling the world. But even if that _is_ the case, it’s always nice to have a home to go back to. A permanent place to call your own, where you know safety and comfort and companionship, if you’re lucky in that regard, await you.

The thought of Maui not having that – and perhaps thinking that he never will – saddens me for some reason.

“But this place…” The intonation of Maui’s voice changes. Whatever he’s trying to say must be personal. I perk my head up, to let him know he has my attention. “This place is the one place I can always come back to.” My chest flutters. “It’s…my sanctuary. My safe place. My own secret slice of the world that no one knows about but me.”

Our eyes meet again.

“And now _you_ , obviously.”

He grins.

The mere realization that it’s a shy grin, and not a smug one or a cocky one, spikes my pulse. That feverish sensation from earlier consumes me, full-force. The Bambi legs. The prickling shivers. The swelling of my tongue and dryness of my throat.

Actually…okay, that last one is new.

I’m _parched_.

I turn to the stream. The question flies out of my mouth before I can catch it, “Is the water safe to drink?”

“Of course. It’s mostly just rainwater from the mountains, so you have nothing to worry about.”

 _Hallelujah_.

I drop to my knees at the bank of the stream, withholding a slew of curses on the cusp of my tongue as the jarring motion ignites a fire in my hip, and dip my cupped hands into the water. I bring the water to my cracked lips and drink.

I whimper.

Like the coconut water Akoni had me drink earlier in the week, I’m instantly hydrated and cooled. I plunge my hands into the river, greedy for more. I drink until my belly is leaden with water – my bladder is going to be screaming at me later – and when I’m done, I splash some water on my face. Sprinkle it on the back of my neck and under my arms, ‘cause it just feels _so good_.

“You know, now that I think about it, the waterfall makes for a _great shower_.”

My hands freeze. Water drips through my fingers. The double meaning behind Maui’s words, none too subtle in its approach, meets its mark. Images of a naked Maui swimming and flopping about in the pool beneath the waterfall flood my mind. My temperature rises faster than an outdoor thermostat on a summer afternoon in Texas.

“And I have this one spot, right behind the waterfall, that I use for my bathroom – talk about _scenic_ …”

 _Oh_.

“Ah, you…!” I shoot to my feet, nearly face-planting the ground as my left knee gives out. Maui howls with laughter, hands splayed over his belly and head thrown back. Lips pinched tight in rage, I gather my bearings – and more water in my cupped hands. I fling the water at him. It soaks the front of his cerulean button-down and crotch of his pants. His pig nose scrunches in horror. “Are you shitting me? You let me drink, knowing that you…you’re… _you’re disgusting_!”

“You drenched my favorite shirt.” Maui holds up the ends of his shirt. “You…are a _monster_.”

“Fuck your shirt.” My stomach gurgles. I bend over, hands on my knees, and groan. “Ugh…I feel sick.” Everything is spinning waaay too fast. I squeeze my eyes shut to try and remedy it, but the godforsaken image of Maui, _still buck-naked_ , pummels relentlessly at my brain.

Vomit, and die.

That’s all I want to do right now, is vomit, and die. Is that too much to ask?

“Please don’t puke. I was just joking around.”

Breathing heavily, I jut my chin and glare at Maui. He’s in the process of unbuttoning his shirt, revealing a damp, white wife-beater underneath. And under that, the muscles of his abs and pectorals, bunching and releasing and…I look away, but not before sneaking a glance at the black ink dotting his collarbones, peeking out from under the wife-beater.

“This is the first time I’ve been here in three days. I can assure you, the water has not been poisoned by my… _greatness_ …” He tries to suppress his snicker, and fails. Epically. At my second lethal glare, he pinches his lips together and raises his right hand. “You’re safe. Demi-Gods’ Honor.”

 _Unbelievable_.

I straighten, lower back popping. I widen my shoulders in indignation.

And I collapse.

“Hey!” Maui bolts forward. For a guy his size, he’s surprisingly agile. He tosses his shirt over his shoulder and kneels, cupping the back of my head and checking my face for signs of distress. “You okay, Frowny?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.” I have to chomp down, hard, on my lower lip to keep from calling my own bluff. My hip is caught in this in-between state of numb/tingly pain and iron-hot pain. Each throb is like a lightning shock, banding around my waist and racing to the tips of my toes. “Here. Let me just…” I grab his thick forearm and push myself up.

Bad idea.

My knee, limp and noodle-y and unresponsive, gives way, and I fall – but this time, I land squarely in Maui’s chest. His arms immediately box around me, creating a protective barrier. Like before, my first instinct is to thread my fingers through his hair.

“ _’Fine_ ,’ she says…” He grumbles something else under his breath, something I don’t quite catch, and scoops me up into his arms. My forehead comes to rest at the underside of his jaw, the tip of my nose skimming the flesh of his throat. Exposing me to more of his scent. More of his tattoos. I inhale sharply and hold it, clenching his hair tighter to keep from tracing the patterns with my fingers. “Yep. Still heavy.”

I release his hair and swat his chest. “I-if you think I’m so heavy, then put me down.”

“Yeah? So, you’re telling me, if I set you on your feet right now, you won’t collapse?”

“Yep.”

“You’ll be able to walk by yourself.”

“That’s what I’m sayin’.”

“And, I’m guessing, you’ll even be able to climb those steps?”

Maui’s index finger taps my shoulder-blade, and I whip my head in that direction. A case of stone steps, layered so heavily with moss they blend right in with the surrounding vegetation, lead up a steep hill to the cliff. My hip hurts just looking at them. I suck the inside of my cheek nervously.

“Yeah. I didn’t think so.” Maui hitches my body higher in his arms, utters a brief, “Come on, Frowny,” and starts toward the steps.

While he walks, ascending the steps cautiously, I take in each new statue we pass. I scan the faces of celebrities carefully, with the hope that several of them will spark my memory, and convince me that all those history classes the government forced me to take in high school weren’t a complete waste of time.

Of the dozens of statues filling the clearing, I recognize Martin Luther King, Jr.; Leonardo da Vinci; Nostradamus; Abraham Lincoln; Marilyn Monroe; Mahatma Gandhi; and a whole host of others, too many to name.

Everything about them, from the knotting of their eyebrows to the design of their clothes, is sculpted to a T. Almost as if Maui spent considerable time with these people – long enough to memorize the wrinkles on their hands, and every faint scar and blemish on the planes of their faces.

And their gestures…Marilyn is laughing – the ugly, gut-busting kind; the kind that’s guaranteed to give you a double chin, no matter how slim and trim you are – with her lips smushed into the back of her hand, and Gandhi is sitting criss-cross Apple sauce, pulling at the corners of his mouth and crossing his eyes.

 _Gandhi_ , people.

“Incredible…”

“Hm?”

I pucker my lips, which are looser than usual today. Maui, focus trained on the moss-covered steps, taps my shoulder inquisitively. I hook my thumb toward the statues and say, “I’m just admiring your statues. They’re incredible, Maui.”

Maui’s ear-lobes darken. “Oh. Thanks.”

Huh.

Note to self: Maui humbles his art, and isn’t used to having people compliment it.

“Did you know them?” I ask.

He scoffs. “Course I did. I mean, I wasn’t buddy-buddy with _all_ of them; you should’ve heard some of the arguments Michelangelo and I had. Woof. That boy _could not_ handle criticism well.”

My jaw drops straight to the ground. “You knew Michelangelo?”

“Duh. Who do you think taught him how to sculpt?”

I listen, eyes sparkling and fingers twisting his hair, as he tells me of his relationship with Michelangelo. They met shortly after Michelangelo terminated his apprenticeship with Domenico Ghirlandaio, and bonded over their mutual love for art. Maui explains proudly that _he_ was the one who influenced Michelangelo to take up sculpting - the only problem was that Michelangelo sucked ass at it. So Maui taught him everything he knew, and helped him create _David_.

"You see that sculpture over there?' Maui points to our left. The statue, blanketed in moss like everything else around it, is a smaller, crappier-looking version of Michelangelo's _David_. I nod my head slowly. " _That_ was Michelangelo's original sculpture."

"Wait." I flex my fingers and let his words sink in. When they do, I have to do a double-take. "You mean...you mean _you_..."

"Mm-hm." Maui smiles. "The statue on display in Florence was done by _me_."

He continues with his tale, saying that _not all_ of Michelangelo's works were done by him. The Sistine Chapel was actually a collaboration, and as a "Thank you" for helping him, Michelangelo incorporated a portrait of Maui on the section of the chapel labeled _The Last Judgement_.

"You're bull-shitting me," I say.

"I'm dead serious." I narrow my eyes in speculation. "I am! I'll even take you there someday and show you if you still don't believe me."

I don't think Maui meant to say that. I really, really don't. A mixture of emotions cross his face - pride, joy, confusion, embarrassment, and then pure placidity - and he looks away, dropping his smile. My pulse throbs in my throat. I can barely swallow.

Face hot, I muster up enough courage to say, "Tell me about someone else..."

At some point we reach the top of the stairs – there were more than I initially thought – but even after we’ve made it to the top, we continue to talk about some of the people he knew. According to Maui, Marilyn Monroe adopted a fake laugh to cover up her crow-like wheezing, Gandhi owned a secret pair of clogs, da Vinci often tested paint colors on his beard when his palette ran out of space, and Abraham Lincoln chewed his fingernails while reading.

My stomach hurts from laughing by the time we arrive at the mouth of a cave. The inside is too dark for me to see into, but the smell alone is enough to kill whatever curiosity is clawing its way to the surface. It smells of Maui - a lingering scent, a bit dusty - mildew and animal feces.

It’s so potent it burns my nose.

“I, ugh…I think I’ll wait out here.”

“You sure?” Maui asks, cocking his head.

 _Of course_ the smell doesn’t bother him.

 _Males_.

“Y-yeah. Just, um…don’t take too long, all right?”

Maui dips his head and plops me gently on my feet. I lean against the stone wall to the right of the entrance, where I can actually breathe. He gives me a once-over, then ducks his shoulders and enters the cave.

After what feels like a lifetime of non-stop, mind-numbing chatter, constant hustling and bustling, and not-so-coincidental happenings, I’m thrown off balance by the rush of peace that flows through me. I slump to the ground and let out a long, relieved sigh.

The parakeets in the trees sing one last harmonious song as the sun finally dips beneath the horizon.

The waterfall plays in my ears like white noise, the type mothers’ use to ease their infants into sleep.

I run my fingertips over the soft blades of grass and close my eyes. Soak in the peace and serenity and beauty that is Maui’s home…

Until my index finger skims something cool and smooth.

I glance down. Poking out of the earth is what appears to be a green mound, made of some sort of stone. Verdite? Opal? I’m not sure. It’s caked in mud and vines growing off the wall. I sweep them away, grip the stone in both hands, and make to hoist it out of the earth.

But it’s a lot heavier than I thought.

I manage to lift it only a fraction of an inch out of its hole, but when it becomes clear that it ain't budgin' anytime soon, I give up. It’s about the length and width of a football, with a curved surface on one side and a jagged, chipped surface on the other. Even without light, it glimmers like a beacon.

It's beautiful…

“Watcha’ lookin’ at?”

The hairs on the back of my neck prickle. I swallow my shriek, cover the stone with vines, and stand. Maui looms over me, brows pressed as he gazes questioningly at my hands, dressed in…

My heart dumps like a rock into my stomach.

He's dressed in a _lavalava_ made out of leaves and twigs, and absolutely _nothing else_.

I cover my mouth, worried that I might start drooling. My eyes dart left and right, up and down, falling on Maui’s predominantly bare body only in brief intervals. He’s…a building with legs. Packed to the teeth with enough muscle to make any body-builder envious. Hanging around his throat is a necklace, holding over a dozen teeth from various sea creatures. And his skin, glistening with sweat like a newly shined copper penny, is covered in a multitudinous number of tattoos. There are so many, it’s hard to make them out individually. To do so would require a… _much closer_ look, and I don’t trust myself to encroach on his personal space with him dressed like this.

In his meaty hand, he wields a giant fish-hook that looks as if it might be carved out of bone. The hook itself is engraved with tiny patterns, some of which match Maui’s tattoos, and the shaft is wrapped tightly with rope.

I focus on the hook.

“You planning on catching Megalodon with that thing?”

Ah, witticism.

My best friend in times of sheer trepidation.  

Maui chuckles. “Cute, Frowny. You, ugh…you may wanna take a couple steps back.” Out of spite, I stay right where I am. I even cock my good hip to the side. Maui clucks his tongue. “All right. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He carries the fish-hook over his head and grips it in both hands, holding it out in front of him.

“Honestly, Maui.” I roll my eyes. “You look silly with that thing. If you’re trying to prove to me that you really are _the_ Maui, then you can stop now, because I—”

The tip of his fish-hook explodes with a strange, bright blue light, which spreads down the shaft and hugs Maui’s burly silhouette.

There’s a blinding flash. A crack of thunder.

And then everything goes black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you guys don't mind, I'd like some feedback on both this chapter, and on Maui. Am I writing him in a completely different fashion than how he acts in the movie? Is he too sweet? Too laid back? Too snarky, not snarky enough? I mean, yes, you have to take into consideration it's been THOUSANDS of years since the time of Moana, and he's definitely had some time to mature, buuut...yeah. I'd really like to hear your thoughts.


	12. Ginger Root

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Ello, lovely people! I am back, and under high levels of stress! Here's a bit of advice: Unless you absolutely have to, don't take 18 hours in a semester. Trust me. You will hate yourself. 
> 
> On another note, I want to thank you all for being so patient with me. I had a bazillion tests to study for, and a bunch of papers to write, so it was really almost impossible for me to find the time to just sit down and write this chapter. Not to mention, midterms are next week!! (Barf.) I hope you're all doing well, in school, out of school, wherever you're at in life, and I hope you enjoy this chapter! <3
> 
> (Side-note, music is gonna be a lil different for this chapter. If you guys like it, then I'll probably have a few chapters (very few) that have McKenna's Alternative Mix ('cause I can totally see her jamming to this late at night). And if not, then womp, sorry guys, I'll go back to normal.)
> 
> McKenna's Playlist >> Alternative Mix:
> 
> no name - lil happy lil sad & SoLonely  
> adventurer - 9TAILS (prod. reaper)  
> the island - 9TAILS (prod. tinyforest)

For the first time in my life, the act of being on a boat doesn't toss my insides like a salad and make me want to puke until I faint.

Eyes wide, dry lips pursed, I gaze up at the stars in the velvety blue sky. It's impossible for me to tell whether it's late night or early morning. The air is cool and dewy on my skin, and reeks of raw fish. Through the gaps in the logs, I feel every so often the soft lip of water along my backside, against my fingertips. The soporific melody of waves tumbling into each other and seagulls squawking - we must be near land, if that's the case - is enough to coax me back to sleep.

And above all things, _the bobbing of the canoe doesn't make me feel sick_.

Which can only mean that I'm either A) dead, b) dreaming, or C) drugged out of my ever-loving mind.

I cross my arm over my torso and pinch the inside of my elbow. Really drive my nails into the skin. Hold for thirty seconds, because there's no such thing as being "too thorough."

It's safe to assume that I'm not dead, because _Christ_ , that seriously hurts ~~(and if I was dead, who in the _hell_ would be narrating this shit, huh?)~~ ; and aside from now having a red, throbbing welt on my arm, nothing happens.

No surging through tunnels. No bright, white lights. No other such nonsensical transitions that would bring me out of my subconscious and back into reality. 

 _So it_ must _be drugs, then...  
_

I mean, if that's the case, then I'm certainly not going to complain about it, because this feels _great_. Not that I'm...condoning drugs or anything. I think we all know that I'm the _last_ person who should be doing something like that. He-he. *nervous sweat-drop*

I release an explosive sigh and let my arms fall limp over my stomach. Closing my eyes, I immerse myself in each and every physical sense - allow them to possess both my mind and body - and coast with the motion of the ocean. A smile of contentment stretches my lips.

"Good dream?"

I start. My head whips in the direction of the voice. Something crackles beneath my scalp. Marram grass? Banana leaves? Kapa cloth? Whatever it is, it's surprisingly comfortable, and does wonders for my aching neck.

The moon, a crooked toenail fixed amongst the stars, provides enough light for me to make out Maui's prominent features. His wide face and piggish nose. Broad, ink-stained pectorals. Chubby hands and feet. His voluminous hair, now raven-black in the soft blue-white hue. He's kneeling beside me, one hand gripping tightly to the rope of the sail and the other clutching... _something_. A twinkle of tender awe and childish glee lights in his eyes as he gazes down at me.

"Mornin', Frowny," he says. "Or should I start calling you 'Fainty'? Because that's the second - no, wait." Forehead creased, he leans back. Using the hand holding the rope, he counts quickly on his fingers. "That's the _third_ time you've fainted since we met."

I blink. My lips have formed a wide 'O'.

"Don't get me wrong," he continues, oblivious to my shock, "it was flattering at first. Truly, it was. But now it's just distracting. You really need to get your shit together, because we can't keep doing this."

"M... _Maui_?" I whisper.

"So, you _do_ remember me!" He exclaims. "Good. You had me going there for a while." He taps his chest. "When you finally came to in the clearing, you were in so much shock you couldn't remember me; you barely remembered who _you_ were. It took a lot of coaxing for me to earn your trust so I could carry you back to the beach."

Memories, pulsing like a movie reel, assault my frontal lobe. In almost no time at all, I remember everything: the storm, washing up on the beach, Maui's rescue, Elaine's fever, tromping through the woods for supplies, the clearing—

 _Maui's transformation_.

"I..." I press my lips into a fine line and flush, praying that Maui didn't hear the disconcerted wobble in my voice. The gradual faltering of his expression is proof enough that he did. Despite the waves of repulsion and terror knotting my intestines into monkey fists, I'm overwhelmed by shame.

So, okay.

Let's put things in perspective, shall we? Maui can _shape-shift_. The kind of shape-shifting that allows him to transform from a man into a _giant hawk_ \- or any other animal depending on his preference, I guess - with the help of his _fish-hook_. He's also thousands of years old. _He met fucking Michelangelo and sculpted the original David_. In short, he is _the_ Demi-God Maui.

...so, what?

Why am I so afraid?

Since our unprecedented meeting, he hasn't given me a single reason to suspect he might deceive me. If anything, all he's done is proven himself to be a sarcastic pain in the ass; in the short time I've known him, he's knocked Rayne off her throne and assumed the role as The Baniest Bane of My Existence.

And Maluhia trusts him.

And while I may not know much about her, other than the fact that she's keeping valuable secrets from us (which is, like, _no biggie_ , ya know?), I trust that she won't intentionally lead us astray.

Sucking up my apprehension, I prop myself up on my elbows. A chain of pops run from the tail of my spine to the base of my neck. Lactic acid warms the muscles in my lower abdomen and hips. And speaking of hips, my left one doesn't hurt anymore. I poke a curious finger under the band of my shorts. Minimal pressure on the skin - which is still a blot of black, but feels smoother than usual - continues to send shocks racing up and down my leg, but the throbbing has dissolved, and I'm able to slightly roll the joint.

I pull my hand back and press my fingers together.

"Huh...?"

"Arnica," Maui answers. I glance up. He's moved away from me, far enough for me to notice. "It's a medicinal herb that reduces inflammation, but it can also be used to soothe bruises and sore muscles." He grins. "You're lucky I had some topical cream already prepared. I'll have to stock up on some more arnica next time I'm in Europe, but that's beside—"

"Shut up." I hold a finger to his lips. He swallows, Adam's Apple bobbing. "First and foremost," I say, grunting as I sit up further, "when was the third time I fainted?" _Because I honestly can't remember_.

Maui's caterpillar-esque brows shoot to his hairline. When I remove my finger, his lips remain parted in a stupefied fashion. His glassy, unblinking eyes probe into my soul, seeing every part of me - the good bits as well as the bad. It's jarring how easily it makes me feel vulnerable. Exposed.

I don't like it.

I cover my face with my arm. "S-stop looking at me like that, you big creep, and answer the question."

"Wha'? Oh. Sorry." Clearing his throat, Maui stands to his feet. He tugs the rope, broadening the sail, but I can tell that it's mostly just for show. "Well," he starts, "there was that time on the beach, when I so valiantly saved you from a hot, miserable death; the time in the clearing, after I fooled you into thinking you were drinking my—"

"If you value your testicles and prefer them attached to your body, I advise you don't finish that sentence."

Whereas most men I've known would tremble had I made such a threat, Maui impresses me by throwing his back his head and laughing. "Okay, okay. And then, there was that time after you saw me...you know...so, boom. That makes three." He holds up three proud fingers. Wiggles them in my face.

I scrunch my nose. "I didn't faint that time at the stream, you ninny. I _collapsed_."

"Collapsed, fainted; no matter what you call it, it all results in the same thing: you falling, breathless and dazed, right into my arms."

 _Dammit, Maui_.

" _Secondly_ ," I continue, "I want you to explain... _all of this_." I wave my hand at the wide-open ocean. "What happened after I fainted in the clearing? Where are the others? Is Elaine okay? How do you know so much about herbs? Did you drug me? Why don't I feel sick - I mean, I'm on a _fucking boat_ , for crying out loud—"

Somewhere in the midst of my questionnaire, I'd started to raise my voice to a pitched shrill. Maui, thankfully, knocks me out of it with a quick flick to my forehead.

"Easy, Frowny. You don't wanna wake your sister."

_Elaine?_

I lurch sideways and peer around Maui's thick legs. On the other side of the canoe, bundled in a thick cloth to keep her from getting wet, is Elaine. Her head it tilted away from me, so I can't see her face. But the fact that she's here, with Maui and I, fills me with loads of relief.

And she isn't alone: Abdul and Ku are here, with the former hunched over Elaine and checking her vitals, and the latter sitting at the edge of the canoe, feet in the water. It's hard to make out in the dark, but on Ku's back there are dozens of swollen, partially bandaged welts, cuts, abrasions, and bruises the size of golf balls.

I flinch.

I'd been so wrapped up in worrying over the people in my group, I hadn't considered the possibility that Ku might be seriously injured as well.

"What happened to...?" I whisper and point a finger at Ku.

Maui shakes his head. "Fractured tibia. Must've happened when his canoe hit the rocks."

"God. Why didn't he say anything?"

He shrugs. "Who knows? Maybe he felt compelled to keep it a secret in order to stay in Maluhia's good graces. Their relationship always has been a little... _dicey_."

I scoff. "Great. More secrets."

Not like we ain't got plenty of those already. (Hint: sarcasm.)

"Frowny. Look at me."

Biting my bottom lip, I do as he says.

He stoops over me, eyes cast wearily over his shoulder at the others, whom barely acknowledge our existence. I notice that, of the three, he trains his steady gaze on Elaine the most. After a moment's deliberation, he says in a low voice, "How much has Maluhia told you?"

"About?"

His eyes flick to mine in an instant. Displeasure reads clear in the downward tilt of his lips.

"I should have figured..." He angles his chin toward his chest and grumbles some more under his breath. I stare at him, worrying if he might be having some sort of weird mental breakdown, when—

_Smack!_

I lean back, bewildered. "M-Maui?" I ask.

"Hm? What now?"

"Why...did you just slap your chest like that?"

At once, his bronze skin pales to an ashy white. It's like I'm witnessing his composure crumble and chip away, bit by prideful bit. A shriek of nervous laughter escapes him, and his eyes dart to and fro. Like a child hiding something from his parents, he crosses his arms over his chest, fists under his arm-pits. Covering the tattoos.

 _Tattoos I swear just freaking moved_.

"It's nothing," Maui says, a tad too loud. "L-look, the point I'm trying to make here is that you need to speak with Maluhia. As soon as you possibly can."

"But, why can't you—"

" _It's not my place_."

I recoil at the terseness of his words. Maui catches it, and the lines in his forehead smooth. He drops to his knee once more, and releases whatever he's been holding in his hand this whole time to cup my face.

"If I could tell you," he whispers, leaning in close, "I would. In a _heart-beat_. But...it's not my place. I'm...I'm not the one she chose to protect you."

_Protect me? She??_

_What is he talking about?_ **_What the fuck is going on?!_ **

I've a good mind to grab Maui's thumb and bend it till the bone snaps and the tip touches his forearm. Have him beg for mercy. Keep him in that steady state of pain while he answers each and every one of my questions.

But he doesn't allow me the chance.

He bolts to his feet, tightens the rope in his other hand, and moves to the back of the canoe.

As loud as I can without waking Elaine, I snort at him, hoping that he’ll take the message and maybe feel guilty for not telling me.

But he refuses to look at me now. 

Chin up, shoulders back, lips pinched tight, he fixes his eyes on the bleak horizon.

His refrain hurts worse than a rejection. It punches a Superman fist-sized hole through my chest, and leaves me hollow and cold. My eyelids itch with unshed tears. The knots in my belly - from the stress, from the anger, from the sickness now starting to creep in again - tighten to the point of excruciating pain. I do my best to focus solely on regaining my lost breath, but each stolen glance at Maui steals it away again. And it's hard to avoid looking at him, knowing that he _knows everything_ and won't... _can't_...tell me.

The last person I want to see me cry is Maui, but I'm no longer in control of my emotions.

Tucking my chin into my chest, I roll onto my hands and knees and begin my crawl toward Elaine. I barely make it a step when my left hand knocks aside the strange object Maui had dropped. I swipe my palm across my eyes to get rid of the blur and lift it to my face.

My lips fall open in a silent sob.

It's ginger root.

Maui brought me ginger root.

~~~

_"Kenna, why are you still crying? I already told you, I'm not mad at you, my love."_

_Even though I know her words are sincere, I can't stop myself from thinking that she might be lying._

_I mean, if I were her,_ I _would lie. Nobody likes it when you throw up on their brand-spankin'-new dress - the one their husband bought for them during his once-in-a-lifetime trip to Greece._

_The way her face lit up when he presented it to her on her birthday..._

_Comparing it to the expression she had on her face after I painted her lap with my breakfast is almost enough to make me sick again._

_Sitting on the edge of the bed, wrapped in a fluffy blue towel, I drive the heels of my hands into my eyes to stop the tears from flowing out. I'm crying, the uncontrollable, erratic hiccup-y kind. A bowl of vomit resides on the floor at my feet, but my nose is so plugged up with snot I can't even smell it. My head and chest throb in perfect synchronicity. A heavy dose of word verbiage comes pouring out of my mouth, but I can't make heads or tails about what I'm actually trying to say._

_Mommy, wrapped in the same fluffy towel that hugs her petite body, closes the mini-fridge between the two beds and sits beside me. I ignore the water bottle she offers me and throw myself at her waist. Hug her tightly. Mumble apology after apology into her belly._

_The act draws a laugh - a twinkle and a snort - out of her. "Aw, honey," she coos. She threads her fingers through my dark, wet strands. "Could you please look at me?"_

_"No."_

_"Pretty please?"_

_I shake my head._

_Why doesn't she understand that I'm too ashamed to face her? Doesn't she realize that I ruined her dress, quite possibly forever? Doesn't she understand that I nearly made her cry, or that I made daddy yell in anger, or that I scared away Elaine?_

_Everyone hates me...even my stomach...and I deserve it._

_Mommy draws in a deep breath. "Pretty please, with a blue, gummy dolphin on top?"_

_My arms stiffen. I suck my lips into my mouth and chomp down hard._

_"Come on," she whispers, playfully tugging my roots. "You're putting up a good fight, but I know you can't resist your dolphins."_

_All is quiet, save for the buzzing of the mini-fridge and an odd thumping sound coming from inside the room behind us. Mommy has the patience of a Saint (or so daddy says), because it takes me a total of six minutes to give up the ghost and look at her. By that time, my tears have subsided, and the snot has crusted around my nostrils._

_But my stomach churns with sick, and I'm not sure how much time I've got left before I need to use the bowl._

_"There you are." Mommy's eyes, which I'd expected to be puffy and red, are as vibrant as I remember. Despite her hair being a wet mop atop her head, and her make-up gone, she's still a masterpiece; people think I'm being cute when I say my mother is the most beautiful woman on the planet. "I forgive you, sweetheart," she says. Her words bring fresh tears to my eyes. "And I'm so sorry you don't feel good. Cruises aren't exactly my favorite thing in the world, either."_

_She pats her lap. I'm reluctant._

_"Here. Try this."_

_She pulls something from behind her back. It's light brown and looks like a stick. One end of it has been cut off, revealing the inside, which reminds me of yams._

_I sniffle. "What is it?"_

_"It's ginger root," she says. "It'll make your tummy all better."_

_"You promise?"_

_"I promise, my love."_

_I take the ginger root from her, sniff the piece that's already been cut off, and place it on my tongue. The taste is bitter, and makes my mouth feel warm._

_"Only a little bit," mommy says. "Too much could make you feel worse." She pats her lap again, and this time I comply. While I suck on the ginger root, she folds her arms around me and rocks me gently. "You want to know a secret?"_

_"Hm?"_

_She tucks a lock of hair behind my ear and whispers, "No dress, or any other material possession, could ever compare to my childs' health and happiness. I want you to remember this, always: you and your sister are worth more than anything I could ever own. And if you aren't feeling well, then, as your mother, I will do everything in my power to heal you. Because nothing - absolutely nothing - matters if you and Elaine aren't around to enjoy life with me. Do you understand?"_

_"Yes, mommy."_

_"Good." Mommy touches her forehead and nose to mine - an act of affection she picked up in New Zealand. Something she calls a "hongi." "I love you, McKenna."_

_Eyes closed, all I can do is hum in reply._

_And smile, because my stomach no longer churns with sick._

_~~~_

Motunui comes into view at daybreak.

It almost looks like it should be on the cover of a greeting card, with the morning rays climbing over the mountaintops, setting fire to the waters in the lagoon and bringing into existence the many _fales_ and huts dotting the island.

Elaine enveloped in my left arm, I prop myself up on my right hand and bask in the view. My eyelids are heavy; the ginger root had done the trick, and I managed to relax a little while longer, but sleep never found me. For an hour, maybe two, I just lay here. Face buried in Elaine's shoulder. Thinking about all the recent mondo-bizarro events that took place in the last week. Theorizing over what it could all mean, but unable to come up with a single rational conclusion.

To give you a taste, one of my theories had to do with Dominic being a Demi-God, like Maui, and that he fucked things up for Maluhia and her people, and that's why she doesn't trust him. But then I thought, No. No, that doesn't make sense. I've seen his baby pictures. Seen the powder on his tiny baby-bum. He is definitely _not_ a Demi-God.

A couple times, I'd peek back at Maui and catch him staring at me. Not in that creepy, "I'm gonna rape you," kind of way, more like the concerned and disheartened way. And each time, he'd blink out of his trance, glare down at the tattoos on his chest, and then return to watching the horizon.

But other than that, we didn't speak again.

None of us did.

That all changes the instant we see Motunui.

Instantly, pandemonium strikes: Ku starts to weep - partially out of joy, and partially because of the pain in his leg - and lift his hands to the sky in prayer; Abdul goes from checking Elaine's vitals to hopping hysterically at the back of the canoe, checking to see if Maluhia's canoe might be close behind; Maui grumbles (more to himself than his tattoos, which may or may not move); and Elaine takes to groaning, because her fever is getting worse and we're running out of time.

I launch sideways till I'm sitting on my hip, hand splayed over Elaine's blazing forehead. Her breath leases in spurts. Her eyes are rolling from beneath her eyelids. Under the blanket, her legs start to twitch.

"Shit." I whirl. " _Maui_?"

He nods. "I'm on it."

Maui leaps to his feet and loops the rope around his arm. He pulls it as taut as he possibly can. He's the biggest man alive, yet his biceps are trembling. He shouts a quick, "Hold on," before angling the oar in the water. The wind catches the sail and fills it completely. The boat lurches. Soon, we're soaring like a harpoon, with the nose of the canoe raised a near foot out of the water.

In mere minutes, we arrive in the lagoon, hair wind-tossed and cheeks burning.

There's already a welcoming party waiting for us.

Etu - I never thought I'd be so happy to see his bearded mug again - holds a conch shell to his lips, and is trumping a call that slowly draws people from their homes. Several of them come running. I recognize most of their faces, with the most prominent one being the guy whom I blinded with ocean water. (Glad to see he's on our side now...) My father, Dominic, and Richard, who all look and seem like they've been through worse hell than us, are the first to come bounding out into the water.

"McKenna! Elaine!" Dad's voice cracks. " _My girls_!"

"Daddy!"

The minute the canoe stops moving, I throw myself straight into Dad's open arms. Once he has me, he drops to his knees in the water, which rises only to our hips, and clutches me to him. His chest racks with sobs of joy.

"Thank God," he murmurs, petting my hair. " _Thank God_."

I drink in his scent, breath by shuddering breath. I'll never take this smell for granted as long as I live.

" _Elaine_!"

Richard, who is as athletically challenged as they come, hurdles over the edge of the canoe - clears is _perfectly_ , people - and kneels beside Elaine. He places a hand to her cheek, and yanks it away with a hiss.

"She's burning up," he reports. "Etu! We need Ona _now_."

A call on the conch, like that of a tweety bird, is his only response.

"Elaine? Oh, God." I grab Dad's hands and help him to his feet. He readjusts his glasses and tugs at his roots. "McKenna...what the hell happened out there?"

I shake my head. "I'll explain everything later. Right now, we need to get Elaine to Ona." I give his hands a reassuring squeeze and turn to the canoe. Along with Richard, I slip my hands under Elaine and begin easing her toward the edge. "Maui! A little help would be nice."

" _Maui_?" The question comes from Dominic, whom has helped Ku off of the boat and is now starting toward land. "Who's _Maui_?"

I point a finger to the back of the canoe. "Him," I say. "That's—"

His name dies in the back of my throat. My finger curls, and my hand falls at my side.

At the back of the canoe, the oar rocks left and right in the water. The rope is discarded into a pile that reminds me of a rattlesnake.

Maui is gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got a few notes on the docket today:
> 
> 1) Wow. I feel like I really rushed it with this chapter. I hope it doesn't feel that way to you guys. I never want to half-ass anything with this story - I treasure it waaaay too much - but I'm worried my stress might be putting me in "Go Mode" and it's just...ugh...
> 
> 2)We got a visit from McKenna's mother!! Weird, right? I almost didn't write the memory that way. Instead, it was going to be HENRI who gave her the ginger root. But, I think I've tortured McKenna (and you guys) long enough. This isn't the last we'll see of McKenna's memory-mother, though. Fair warning. 
> 
> 3) Fun Fact: That theory McKenna derived in the last part of the chapter is ACTUALLY an alternative ending I had for this story. I ran it through my head many, many times, and finally decided that it just didn't fit. So now, it's an Easter egg...I think? (Would it be considered an Easter egg, or a fourth wall break?)
> 
> 4) Feedback time (boo): How are we enjoying the interactions between Maui and McKenna so far? Do you feel like it's stale, funny, interesting, etc.? Is there chemistry there? Or do you think it might be missing something? If so, what? 
> 
> 5) Before you go, enjoy my reaction (more or less) to this story reaching 500+ hits.  
> \---> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OVCUTt57en0
> 
> Until next time.


	13. Remembering

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo, lovely people! Here's another (short, but hopefully enjoyable and decent?) chapter! I don't really have much to say today, so I hope you all like it!
> 
> McKenna's Playlist >> Michael Schulte:
> 
> Thoughts

"Let me see if I understand you correctly."

Nodding my appreciation to Akoni, I accept the halved coconut over-flowing with water and take a hearty swig. I pay no mind to the droplets gushing down my chin, soaking into the neckline of my tank-top; there are worse things that have soaked into these clothes from Maui's island. The tepid water temporarily soothes the rawness in my throat, salves the cracks in my lips.

I moan.

The last good drink I remember having was at the stream, and if what Abdul said to me is true, that was almost two days ago.

Which means that when I fainted, I didn't wake up until we were already close to reaching Motunui.

Apparently, that was another motivator for them to Go Go Power Rangers with the canoes: all of their attempts to wake me failed. And Abdul experimentally tossing out the word "coma" upped the ante; they worked continuously throughout the day. Maluhia's canoe finished first (ya know, 'cause it didn't have a _giant stinkin' hole in it_ ), and that's the one Maui took to bring the injured back home. But, as you know, as soon as we arrived, Maui vanished.

And without him here to back up my claims, it's no surprise that my father doesn't believe the validity of my story.

Sipping greedily from the coconut, I follow him with my eyes. Like the rest of us, he hasn't showered or dressed into a fresh pair of clothes since the day everything went to Hell in a handbasket. He's building a trench in the dirt with all the pacing he's doing. His shadow, flicking in and out erratically because of the fire, mimics his frenzied gestures. He's removed his glasses, a sign I know all too well from childhood that means he's had it up to _here_.

"When the storm hit," he says, "you were knocked off of the canoe, and washed up on a deserted island—"

" _Wasn't deserted_ ," I mumble into the coconut bowl.

Dad pauses abruptly. Charlie stands to attention on his forehead, and the lines between his eyebrows deepen. I lick the remaining drops of water on my bottom lip and avert my attention to Akoni, whom already has another halved coconut prepared for me.

_Bless his heart._

"As I was saying—" There's an edge to Dad's voice now. It's clipped. Dangerous. One wrong move - one word out of place - and I can kiss my sorry hide goodbye. "—you washed up on a _deserted_ _island_. You managed to regroup with the others, and found out that Elaine was sick. You helped them patch up the canoes and fainted from the exertion. When you woke up, you were already headed back here to Motunui with Elaine, Abdul, and Ku."

He stops pacing and nods to me for confirmation.

I hold up my finger in that universal, _Just, you know, one sec_ , and take another swig of coconut water. I'm seconds away from barfing, but I can't seem to get enough.

Charlie throbs.

"That's right," I say, breathless. Dad's stiff shoulders relax. I set the halved coconut on the ground and lean back against the log. "Only, it's not. You glossed over _everything_ I said about Maui - you went so far as to remove him from the story entirely."

"I didn't ' _gloss over_ ' Maui because you never met him."

[Insert sigh and eye roll here.]

"McKenna, sweetheart, don't you get it?" Dad steps around Akoni, busy at work shredding the coconut meat inside the now-emptied coconuts, and kneels at my side. He places a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "You were having delusions. Abdul told me that you'd gone nearly three days without food, and hardly any water. In such a state, it's perfectly natural that you would have hallucinations. You probably remembered the cloth of Maui in Maluhia's hut, and in that moment of hopelessness...your brain conjured him up. But, McKenna, I need you to understand this: _There_ is _no Maui_."

I chew the inside of my cheek. The angel on my right shoulder is tugging frantically at my hair and screeching, "Don't do it, McKenna. It'll only make things worse."

Meanwhile, the horned devil on my left shoulder is cocking the handle of its pitchfork like a shotgun, goading me along.

Dad? Talking to me like I'm four years old, and haven't got a stinking clue?

Like Hell I'm just gonna sit back and let that Marty Mc _Fly_. (For all you youngens here in the audience tonight, I'm making a reference to the _Back to the Future_ franchise. Ask your folks. They'll know. Or use Google. Whatever floats your goat.)

All it takes it four words: "Yes, daddy. There is."

And the coconut bowl resting beside me goes pin-wheeling through the air.

Akoni and I watch it fly, him in disappointment, and I in awe because my father has the potential to be the next Jan Stenerud for the Green Bay Packers.

"God - _dammit, McKenna_!"

At his outburst, the hens stop clucking. The pigs in their sties fall silent. Anyone within a three-mile radius has ghosted out of sight, because they know that no storm could ever compare to a fathers' rage.

Dad glares at Akoni. The impish man takes the hint, smiles, and stands calmly from his seat. Neither I nor my father say a word as we watch him jaunty on up the trail to retrieve the coconut half. Only when he continues up the trail and takes shelter behind someones' _fale_ does Dad open his mouth.

"I thought we'd moved past this," he starts in a low growl. I furrow my brow. Moved past this? Past what? "First Elaine, and now you..." Dad locks his fingers behind his head. He arches his back. "Perhaps it would have been beneficial for you to live with Aunt Lora."

Okay, ew.

I can provide a fucking laundry list of reasons for why I should never have to live with Aunt Lora. Namely, because she's icky, bratty and mean - meaner than me, and that's saying something. The fact that she lives in the Philippines with some whack-job, multimillionaire philanthropist doesn't really change things, either. Why?

Allow me to provide a few of those reasons.

1) She dropped out of college when she was nineteen and didn't tell her family. Instead, she lied and bled her parents of their funds - blew it all away on alcohol, weed and an impressive collection of Lord of the Rings merchandise. After her parents caught onto her schemes and laid her off, Dad continued to send her money anyway. She took advantage of his piety for four years before he, too, cut her off.

2) Every year for Christmas, she sent us Get Well Soon cards in the mail; she just scratched out the "Get Well Soon" messages and wrote "Happy Holidays, L." And instead of money, she gave us coupons - to _Kroger_.

3) On my fourth birthday, she and her man-of-the-evening snuck a bottle of whiskey from Dads' liquor pantry. They downed the bottle in our upstairs bathroom, then came downstairs and literally started flipping tables; they smashed my birthday cake and started grinding on the furniture. That was the first time I ever heard Mom curse, and it was _beautiful_.

4) She called Mom a hussy on my parents' eighth-year anniversary because she saw her eating lunch with another man. It was actually Dad, but he'd gotten a haircut and was wearing his new contact lenses.

If Dad had shipped me off to stay with Aunt Lora, that wouldn't have been a punishment - that would have been a _disownment_.

But, back to the original question at hand.

"What are you talking about?" I hold up my hand. "What were we supposed to have moved past?"

Dad stills. "You're saying you don't remember what happened to Elaine the day Mrs. Doane called me?"

The day Mrs. Doane... _oh_.

The day I saw those strange writings in Elaine's journal. I remember it clearly now: Mrs. Doane had called Dad to come pick us up right away, stating that it was an emergency, and then she flew to Elaine and wrapped her up in a big hug. Started praying. Elaine sat there, hopelessly confused, but she remained steadfast in her spelling. Dad turned up five minutes later, and Elaine balled up her study sheet. And then she...then she...

I blink.

It all goes blank beyond that point.

I remember the next morning, and going to school, but any recollection of the rest of that evening is virtually nonexistent.

"Dad...?"

"McKenna, your sister almost _died_."

_The balled-up study sheet smacks Dad in the jaw. Elaine throws herself from Mrs. Doanes' arms and drops to the floor. She's clawing at the carpet, pulling out threads. Hissing. A foamy substance bubbles out of the corners of her mouth._

"She went into convulsions. The doctors speculated that it might have been a seizure caused by some sort of... _fever_ , o-or infection, and if we hadn't gotten her to the hospital in time..."

_Her eyes roll into the back of her head. The hissing turns into words. I pick out bits and pieces: Motunui. Maui. Rock. Ocean. Dying. Dying - dying - dying._

"And just like you, she kept speaking of this _Maui_ person. Saying that she'd seen him... _talked_ to him. But after we brought her home, you told me that she'd been studying Polynesian mythology in her class, and that _that_ was where she got the name from."

My eyes go wide. "I did?"

Dad nods.

The blood in my veins is ice cold. The memories - repressed memories, _forcibly_ repressed - come surging forward. It's almost too much. I focus on breathing in and out through my clenched teeth. I assure myself that the panic will pass.

He's right: I _did_ tell him that Elaine had studied Polynesian mythology. But the words weren't mine. They belonged to...someone else. They _had_ to have belonged to someone else. How else would I have known about it? I didn't know jack-shit about Maui, or Polynesian mythology.

What happened to Elaine...I can't explain it, even now. As far as I'm concerned, it never happened again.

So, why—

Pain, red-hot and sharp, blossoms at the base of my skull. I massage my temples. Try my hardest not to scream. "I-I'm sorry, Dad. Could you—give me a few minutes? I'm not feeling too good."

"Of course." Dad breathes in deep. Exhales. "Of course, sweetheart. I'm sorry for snapping like that."

"It's okay."

He kisses my forehead and smooths out my hair. "We'll speak more about this later."

I nod.

With one last affectionate pet, he turns on his heel and leaves me to my own devices. I watch him begin his journey to Ona's hut, where my sister is undergoing some weird Voodoo surgery.

Ona had explained to us when we brought Elaine in that there were, "Dire complications of her mind, body, and soul, all of which required deep physical and spiritual healing."

I'm not sure what any of that meant - she didn't stick around long enough to elaborate - but my small mind was able to grasp the underlying meaning: having us in the room would be too big of a distraction. It would prove a nuisance to Elaine's recovery. And, painful as it is to admit, I can't allow myself to be the cause of anymore of her suffering.

I _won't_ allow that.

Once Dad is gone, I hunch at the waist and touch my forehead to my knees. Images are coming at me full-force - I'm reliving the holes in my memory, shot through like bullets through bulk paper.

There's me, sitting at the table and smearing paint on a sheet of paper, with Elaine directing what colors to use and where to use them. There's Elaine, bent over the edge of her bed, murmuring to herself in a trance-like state while I peer in through the gap in her door. There's Dad, putting away his research of Motunui, and anything that pertains to it, into a steel safe because the slightest hint of it could potentially send Elaine into another frenzy.

There's Cynthia, my best friend, plopping onto the couch beside me and offering me my first doobie. There's Cynthia, passing me the bottle of Fireball. There's Cynthia, her cheeks splotched with wet mascara, and her lipstick smudged.

There's... _him_...tucking my hair behind my ears and telling me how beautiful I look in my dress. There's _him_ , shooting up in the bathroom. There's _him_ , popping the tab off a bottle of prescription pills and pouring them off into his palm, offering me some because they'll give me "one helluva ride, babe." There's _him_ , eyes bloodshot and nostrils caked in red, telling me how sorry he is.

And then there's Mom - beautiful, iridescent, strong - smiling, laughing, and glowering with her eyes when I do something wrong.

And then—there it is.

The one memory I've been running from since I was seven years old, but as of late has been hounding at my heels. It's of Mom, pale but still beautiful, sitting in the bathtub with wet hair sticking to her cheeks, red running down the side and seeping into the crevices of the tiles, her mint green eyes devoid of life—

"Oh, McKenna. _Ona ta'o, mumua itiiti_."*

Two cold (and slightly damp), nimble arms sweep me into their protective embrace. I hadn't realized I'd been rocking back and forth until they caged me in. Nor did I realize that I'd been muttering the word, "Stop," over and over until she spoke, or that tears were pouring down my cheeks until she wiped them away with her thumb.

I close my eyes and whimper, "Maluhia..."

"I know. _I know_."

"What's—happening to me?" I ask. I also want to add, "And where did you come from?"

From the salty dew clinging to her skin, and the strain to her breathing, I assume she and the others must have just come ashore.

Which pegs yet another burning question: How did she know?

"You are _remembering_ ," Maluhia says. That _doesn't sound good_. I grip her forearms as if they were a life-line, and let her snarl her fingers through my hair, pulling the tangles free. "I had hoped this wouldn't happen so soon, that her magic would hold a little bit longer...but I see now that my ignorance has done more harm than good." She pulls back slightly and pinches my chin, forcing me to look at her. "Tomorrow at sunrise, meet me at Tala's Rock - the slab of volcanic rock next to the docks. If anyone in your party should spot you, do not tell them where you are going. Lie. Make up an excuse. Do whatever you have to do. But I beg of you, please be there. We will... _I_ will finally explain everything. I promise."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Ona ta'o, mumua itiiti - I had to use the cite https://samoan.english-dictionary.help for this one. If I'm correct (which I most likely am not, and I apologize if that’s the case), this phrase should mean, "Be calm, little dolphin."


	14. Dance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is EXTREMELY plot-heavy, you guys. I apologize for the immense exposition. You have been warned. 
> 
> Oh, and if I'm unable to post anything before then, then I hope you all have a wonderful (and tasty, gobble-gobble) Thanksgiving!!
> 
> McKenna's Playlist >> Shuffle:
> 
> Stay Awake - London Grammar  
> Faux - Novo Amor & Ed Tullet

Maluhia is here earlier than I expected her to be.

The minute hand on my fathers' wrist watch - which I'd nabbed in my hurry to sneak out of the _fale_ \- ticks past the five. Sunrise won't be for another hour; the world is still fast asleep, bathed in a mellow indigo hue. Icy winds blow through the trees, taking me back in my minds' eye to those early winter mornings in Milwaukee.

The girl in question is dancing atop Tala's Rock. She's humming, swaying her body to the indistinguishable tune. Hips gyrating slow. Feet tapping softly, heel to toe; left to right; and front to back. Her arms rise and fall in one continuous, fluid movement, and each time she extends her hands to the ocean, it's as if she's giving a piece of herself away.

Instead of her standard Chieftain dress and flower regalia, she's wearing clothes akin to those of the villagers: a skirt made out of woven pandan leaves; a champagne pink sash; and a salmon-colored tube-top embroidered with a line of beads across the breast.

Everything about her exudes content. I'm almost compelled to delve back into the underbrush and leave her be.

But she promised to explain everything to me, to answer all of my burning questions: Why are we here? Who is Dominic and why shouldn't I trust him? Why am I suddenly " _remembering_ " things from my past? What caused the storm? And why haven't there been any visitors to the island in almost one hundred years?

So I say, screw her content.

Filling my lungs with the sweet morning air, I tuck Dads' watch into my back pocket and trek forward. Marram grass crunches under my bare feet, which have grown accustomed to traversing the island plains.

I quiver, but it's not from the cold.

"You're here early," Maluhia says without opening her eyes.

I pause at the edge of Tala's Rock. "So are you," I say. "You said we would meet at sunrise."

"My apologizes. I had difficulty sleeping last night." Maluhia plants her legs shoulder-width apart, left toes pointed toward me and right toes pointed toward the ocean. She extends her arms over her head and claps them. Then she sits back on her right hip and drops her left hand to the inside of her heel. It isn't anything grandiose, but there's an odd energy that charges the air. The ocean rolls up onto the rock and sweeps past her feet, as if responding to her dance. She smiles. "Whenever I have trouble sleeping, I like to come out here and dance with the ocean. It puts my mind at ease."

_Uh huh..._

"Sometimes, Maui joins me," she continues. My pulse spikes at the mention of the tattooed brute. "He's not as fine a dancer as I am, but he's far from being the worst. He's had a, uh... _very long time_ to practice." She skims her fingers over her arms and draws them into her chest. Her feet come together, heels touching. She opens one of her eyes and peers at me. "But I think you know that already."

I drop my head, thinking back to one of the conversations Maui and I had back on his island.

 _"Exactly how old_ are _you, Maui?" I ask, swatting aside fronds like mosquitoes._

_Maui scratches the skin above his sternum. "You know, it's funny - I actually can't remember. I stopped counting the years after I reached three thousand and six."_

_"How come?"_

_"I dunno." He raises his shoulders and grins somberly. "Once reality set in, and I realized I'd never age another day, time sort of lost its meaning. I didn't have to worry about time because I'd_ literally _been given an infinite amount of it to spend. I figured, what does it matter how old I am? I'll just live my life as if time doesn't exist."_

 _"But time_ does _exist," I say._

 _"Does it?" Maui peeks over his shoulder, eyebrow arched. "Does it_ really _?"_

The memory is brief, but I'm stricken by how badly it makes me miss him. I'd known him only a short while, but the connection we had - albeit terse in the beginning - was strong enough to convince me we'd been chummy our whole lives. Everything about him felt... _familiar_. Safe. And yes, yes, I'm aware that these are your typical, cliché "boy meets girl" after-thoughts, but trust me when I say that with Maui, things are different.

I _loathe_ the concepts of destiny and fate, but when it comes to Maui, I can't help the nagging thoughts that say we were always meant to meet and be together.

"Be together."

_As if._

"If we're lucky, perhaps we'll see him this morning." Maluhia's statement disturbs my internal monologue.

I feel a blush working, so I pivot. Cross my arms and jut my chin. "I hope I never have to see that deserting, no-good son of a bitch ever again."

_Liar._

Maluhia sighs. She drops her arms, muscles relaxed, signaling the end of her dance.

"You're angry," she says.

"Is it that obvious?"

"It wasn't his intention to abandon you."

"He didn't abandon _me_ \- he abandoned _all_ of us."

It's been, what, less than five minutes? And I'm already picking fights with people. Creating tension where it's not necessary.

_When will I learn?_

Maluhia grins, her expression an odd combination of sorrow and admiration. She steps closer to me and holds out her hands. "Come," she says, wiggling her fingers. "Dance with me."

I blink. "Excuse me?"

"Trust me. We can... _I_ can explain things better if you dance with me."

I stare at Maluhia's hands, petite and beckoning.

It's immediate, the memory that arises: of Mom, Elaine and I baking cookies in the kitchen, our clothes covered in flour and our fingers slick with melted butter. The radio sitting on the bar beside the white porcelain pig statue - he looked like a chef, and hence was appropriately named, "Chef Porky" - had just started playing a Van Halen song.

Mom loved Van Halen; they were her all-time favorite band. (And after her passing, they would become Elaine's.) As soon as she heard David Lee Roth's velvety voice, she flew to the radio, careless to the mess we'd created, and cranked the volume as high as it would go.

Her flour-smeared face glowed as she held our her hands to me and asked me to dance.

We whisked. We twirled. We tapped our feet to the beat of the music. And when Elaine stepped in to join, she slipped and fell on a puddle of egg whites I'd accidentally spilled on the floor. Mom, being the gracious mother she was, asked Elaine if she was all right before giving in to the pee-inducing laughter. My cheeks ached from smiling so much.

The top of my scalp prickles. The hollowness in my gut returns.

" _Mumua itiiti_."

I don't know what it means, but there's a warmth in the way it's spoken. Its sentiment parallels a mothers' kiss.

"I can't see what it is you're remembering right now," she says. "Whatever it is, it's obviously causing you a great deal of anguish. But you have to be strong. I need you to come back now - I need you to join me."

The desperation in her voice is unusual. Maluhia's demeanor up to this point has always been cool and composed, even in the face of impending doom. The way she handled things when that storm hit us is proof enough of that.

So to see her like this...to hear her practically _begging_ me to join her in such a silly thing as a _dance_...

How can I possibly say no?

Pursing my lips, I slip my hand into hers and let her guide me to the center of Tala's Rock. I'd thought, given its appearance, that the texture of the rock would be grainy and tough against my feet, but it's surprisingly smooth. Like walking over a wet slab of marble. Maluhia returns to her original spot, setting me on her right side.

"Do you know how to dance?" She asks.

"Uh...kind of? My parents enrolled Elaine and I in a ballet class when we were little. I know all of the starter positions, how to arabesque, how to perform a pirouette...I used to be able to do a grand jeté, but I'm not as flexible as I was back then, so if I were to try it now it would probably end in disaster, and..."

I trail off. Maluhia is staring at me like I've sprouted a second head. I realize then that she _no clue_ what I'm talking about.

I chuckle nervously and say, "I'm familiar, but not very good."

"I'll go slow. All you have to do is follow my lead."

I nod.

Breathing in deeply, she stretches her arms above her head and starts gyrating her hips. I mimic her, but my gyrations aren't as flowy or sensual as hers.

The topical cream Ona prescribed works wonders for the pain, but it can only do so much for a bone bruise.

Something strange occurs them, as I follow her lead and lower my arms to my sides. That energy I felt before rips through the air like an electric current. It races down my spine, causing me to jolt. The hairs on the back of my neck rise, and goosebumps pepper the flesh of my arms and legs. I glance at Maluhia to see if she's experiencing the same weird phenomenon, but her eyes are closed. Her lips are moving, too.

She's _chanting_.

The same type of chanting as the little girl who'd grasped onto Elaine's arm in Apia.

She steps forward. I hesitantly follow suit.

A line of sparkling light flares out from the edge of Tala's Rock, grazing over the water and heading further out to sea. I stagger with our next step, this time to the right.

In that same direction, a wave, tumultuous and powerful, crashes onto the shore.

My breathing turns shallow. Cold beads of sweat trickle down my throat. My heart bangs against my ribs, reminding me of the drums used in Kap's Fire Dance.

All I can think is, _I don't want to dance anymore._

_I'm scared._

As if to spite me, Maluhia quickens her pace. My body mirrors hers - not near as perfectly, of course - of its own volition.

I no longer have control over my actions.

"M-Maluhia?" I croak.

She continues chanting. Moves a little faster.

Our arms rise and fall, extend and fold. We tap our feet in perfect synchronicity. Back and forth. Side to side. The magical hold placed on me enables me to arch my back, twist, and curve my body flawlessly, and although I know it's not actually me doing this, I wish I would have been able to move like this a whole lot sooner.

Meanwhile, the ocean rages. Static booms in my ears, drowning out any surrounding noises.

Maluhia throws her weight forward, bounces on the ball of her left foot, and then spins. When I do it, the ocean engulfs Tala's Rock. The water is freezing. It rises above our ankles, yet it doesn't hamper our movements in the slightest.

We clap our hands over our right shoulders and bring them, clasped, to rest over our hearts. Maluhia's heels come together. As do mine. Two separate waves billow and churn in the reef, and crash on either side of the rock. The impact brushes my hair back. I grimace at the icy pellets of water that strike my face.

We stay like this for a solid minute, and in that minute, two simultaneous things happen:

1) The ocean stills completely. Neither a ripple nor a wave makes itself apparent.

2) That sparkling light from before returns, this time positioned a good twenty-five meters from the rock. It starts off as a small whirlpool, then gradually stretches into some weirdly familiar spiral pattern.

I've no real time to admire it before Maluhia lunges, planting her right foot firmly at the edge of the rock. She thrusts her right arm forward. Palm up. Fingers spread.

A gargantuan mound of water rises from the center of the spiral. It grows bigger, taller, casting a beautiful white-and-mint colored gleam. It races to meet us, moving fast, with a speed that I anticipate will send us careening backwards, ass over teakettle.

My thoughts are a jumble of frantic screams and adamant protests. But I'm not in control. I'm a puppet, manipulated by invisible strings. Forced to finish this bizarre, ritualistic dance. I lunge, teeth chattering, and when I throw up my hand, I squeeze my eyes shut tight and brace myself for the impact.

I count each agonizing second as it passes: two...five...ten...twenty-three...forty-seven?

A full minute passes by, and nothing happens.

I pry one curious eye open. The light now glimmers inches from my face, bright and spectacular. Filled with tiny air bubbles and bits of sand and pebble from the ocean floor. And there, right in the center of the light, is a...

A _fish_.

I open my eyes fully and gasp. The wave that had at one point been charging us like a crazed bull has stopped, and is sitting right in front of me. It's a nub of ocean, looming over me a good eight to nine feet.

_A freaking nub!_

The fish, which looks just as wide-eyed and confused as I am, whips around and swims down the channel, returning to the oceans' non-nubby counterpart.

And as bat-shit as it sounds, I think the nub is _staring_ at me.

I'm so focused on reminding myself to breathe. I barely notice Maluhia's arm as it winds around my shoulders.

"McKenna Wolford," she exclaims, "I'd like you to meet my friend: The Ocean."

The nub (The Ocean?) leans in and touches my open palm. A few scarce droplets of water run along the inside of my forearm. Whatever panic or anxiety that was clawing my stomach to ribbons is instantly stunted. The water exhibits a comforting warmth, compared to earlier when it was frigid cold.

It's also vibrating. Pulsing with life and energy.

In that moment, I view it not as a nub, but as an extension of myself. The love I have for it is overwhelming, and tears pour down my cheeks.

"Wow," I whisper. I withdraw my hand and press it to my chest, as if to preserve the heat. I face Maluhia, smiling as wide as I did when I took my mothers' offered hands and danced with her that night in the kitchen. "Just...just... _wow_."

~~~

"So, you helped Moana put the Heart of Te Fiti back in its original place?"

Sitting criss-cross Apple sauce at the edge of Tala's Rock, I await The Ocean's response with bated breath. It dips its nubby head, a sign I've come to understand (based on common sense) as meaning 'yes.' I drum my fingers excitedly.

"So the Heart really _does_ exist? And Te Fiti as well?"

Yes. Yes.

"Is it true that you stuck a blow-dart in Maui's butt cheek?"

Another overzealous yes.

I throw my head back and laugh. "O-oh, ho, my God! That's amazing." I wipe my eyes and sprawl onto my back, arms spread-eagle. "I cannot _wait_ to see the look on his face when he finds out I know about that. He's going to be _sooo_ embarrassed!"

Maluhia, seated next to me with an in-the-works wreath in her hands, grins cheerfully.

It took a grand total of two hours for her to fill me in on the story of Moana: who she was, how she crossed the sea to find Maui, how they put back the Heart of Te Fiti and saved the world together. She left nothing out. Gave me all of the nitty, gritty details. She even sang a song or two, which I thought seemed a bit strange, but hey, she was delivering on her promise. So who was I to complain?

(Besides, the "shiny" one was fun.)

She gave me a brief synopsis of Te Fiti, and for once, I _actually_ paid attention. Because a lot of what she said didn't correspond with my fathers' research. _At all_.

("Wait. You mean to tell me, everything we know about Te Fiti is false?" I ask. Maluhia shakes her head.

"Not false," she says. "Just highly misconstrued.")

Te Fiti actually _did_ create life - but by life, I mostly mean the flora sans the fauna and _homo sapiens_. Every island and continent on the face of the earth, every tree you see, every blade of grass you pack into the earth under your feet, was all created by her.

Where the misconstruction comes into play is that we (as in, the rest of the world (but primarily historians)) believe she created _all_ life. In reality, humans and animals were created by other gods.

(Maluhia argued that historians who came to the island "glorified" the stories of Te Fiti, in the hopes of finally proving the existence of God.)

She also told me that the reason Te Fiti's Heart is so valuable isn't because of the lore that surrounds her: it's because the Heart holds the power to sustain life - no matter what form.

("'Sustain?' What does that mean? It can...keep you living forever?"

Maluhia shrugs. "No one knows. Not even my people. We've speculated for centuries that this might be a possibility, but no mortal has ever dared to steal the Heart before. So, for you and me both, it's simply a theory.")

The problem is, the Heart is Te Fiti's primary source of power, as well as the essence of her existence. Take that away, and she becomes a mindless, soulless vessel of hatred and destruction - she becomes Te Kā, whom Maluhia described as being, "An impressible entity made purely out of lava rock and magma."

Basically, she's the alter ago of Te Fiti, whom is flowery and green, and whose love is all-encompassing.

(My eyes bulge. "Maui was the first to ever steal the Heart? That big lug?"

"He wasn't always so tame," Maluhia says, trying to suppress her giggles - and eventually failing. "He was a lot like you, in some ways. Impulsive, rash...but _way_ more arrogant and egotistical."

"You think I'm arrogant and egotistical?"

"...I said no such thing.")

I did my best not to ask too many questions, but by the end of the tale, I just couldn't help myself. I bombarded both Maluhia and The Ocean with question after question, unable to satiate my hunger until I'd dissected every aspect of the story.

Who was Tamatoa, and how did a chicken help save the world? Did people normally bust out in a musical number whenever they introduced themselves, or had something important to say?

And the Heart— 

But whenever I asked about the Heart, both of them fell silent. Maluhia got that faraway look in her eyes, and The Ocean's nub deflated. A sign I interpreted then to mean 'not good.' Neither of them answered, so I was left to awkwardly transition into another question.

Which brings us to this point in time.

"So, wait." I bolt upright into the sitting position. "This all happened thousands of years ago, right?"

Maluhia and The Ocean nod.

"Not that it isn't significant, but...I'm confused. What does it have to do with anything that's happening _right now_?"

Maluhia lowers the near-finished wreath. She says, slowly, "When Moana returned to Motunui, she documented her voyage on a series of _kapa_ cloths. Because there was no official written language, and wouldn't be for another thousand years, our stories had to be told using drawings. She gathered a select group of individuals from the village - people whom she trusted with her life - and together, they compiled these scrolls and sealed them away into a vault deep underground."

"Why? What reason would they have to seal them away?"

Maluhia pinches the petal of a plumeria flower. An ominous chill sweeps past, causing both myself and The Ocean to shudder.

"The supply givers are the ones who taught us how to read and write," Maluhia says.

_Holy sudden diversion, Batman._

"Kamala and Lani, you mean?"

"Yes. And their ancestors before them. They have brought us books from all around the world. We've studied the Bible, the Quran, the Torah; we've read books written by highly esteemed philosophers, such as Marcus Aurelius and Plato, all so we would no longer remain ignorant to the rest of the world. And if there's one thing I've read that holds the most truth, it's that the only great evil in this world is ignorance."

That sentence tickles something in the back of my mind. And thanks to my whole _remembering_ thing, it comes to me quickly: I find myself transported to my philosophy class, eyes drooping as my bulb-nosed professor writes a name in bubble letters on the board.

"You're quoting Socrates," I say.

She nods. "No one is born evil. I believe that everyone, from the moment they breathe their first breath on this earth, is inherently good. But along the way, they become corrupted by ignorance, disguised in the form of greed and power. It's become human nature, for good people to do bad things if it benefits their own personal gain."

"So...what are you saying?"

"I'm saying that Moana sealed those scrolls away to protect Te Fiti, and that her lover, Sione, betrayed her." Maluhia ties the plumeria stem to the wreath and, tucking a lock behind my ear, sets it on my brow. Her forehead is creased in fury. "He stole the scrolls from the vault, took a canoe, and fled. He wanted to find Te Fiti, steal the Heart, and keep it for himself. But...before he could get there, he came across a group of blood-thirsty marauders. They killed him and stole the scrolls."

My chest tightens. My palms are cold and clammy. "Did anyone ever find them?"

"No. Moana and her people sailed the open seas for weeks. Maui worked himself almost to death, but it was all in vain. The scrolls have never been found, and to this day remain lost to my people."

I put my face in my hands and breathe. In and out. In and out.

"It was Sione who set everything into motion," Maluhia continues. "The foreigners that started coming to our island afterwards? It was all his doing, intentional or not. And though we accepted them with open arms, we knew that they came to Motunui for one reason only: to find the Heart of Te Fiti."

"So Elaine _was_ right," I say, snarling my fingers through my hair. "The group of foreigners that came before us, almost one hundred years ago, tried to steal the Heart of Te Fiti."

"Yes. They were the only group who ever got close enough to succeeding. They wooed us with their dazzling smiles and stories of the outside world, and we let our guard down. There is no one to blame but us."

All of this is starting to hurt my brain, but it's what I've been looking forward to for so long now. The answers are all here, laid out in front of me. And although I've already learned so much, I know that this is far from the end of it.

I still haven't asked the most important question yet.

"Back in your _fale_ ," I begin, "when I overheard you and Dominic talking, you said something about his grandfather. Was...was his grandfather a part of the group that came before us?"

Maluhia hesitates before answering. "Yes. Mr. Wyman's grandfather came here to steal the Heart."

"And did he succeed?"

"I wish he had, _mumua itiiti_. I wish he had."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, if you have any questions/concerns about this chapter (this chapter, and any of the other chapters leading up to it), FEEL FREE to post a comment and LET ME KNOW!! I'll try to answer them as quickly as possible, but I don't want anyone to be confused by what's going on here. 
> 
> I hope you all have a wonderful day, lovelies! Until next time~


	15. Threats

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hullo, lovelies!! It's been a hot minute, hasn't it? Woof. I feel like my writing groove is all off lately, mostly because I haven't had the opportunity to write in such a long time. Well, the semester is over. Which is great, because now I can focus on getting BACK into the groove with this story. So, I apologize if this chapter seems...off?...in a way. It's mainly just a filler - with a crucial plot point that all but smacks you in the face with a sledgehammer at the end. 
> 
> I'm hoping to have the next chapter up by Christmas. If not, a day or two after. (New Years Special?) 
> 
> But for now, I hope you enjoy!
> 
> McKenna's Playlist >> Shuffle:
> 
> Painting Grey - Emmit Fenn  
> Umi - Yoste

"MK, we need to talk."

I've just reached the _fale_ when he speaks out. My immediate reaction is: a burst of adrenaline; a jump in heart-rate; a flurry of goose pimples rising along my arms and legs; and a pitched shriek, tumbling awkwardly from my lips.

Dominic, sporting a pair of navy blue shorts, Nikes, and that God-awful floral button-down shirt my father bought for him (it was a gag gift, with a heavy emphasis on the _gag_ ), stands propped against one of the _fale's_ support beams. Legs crossed casually at the ankles. Picking at his cuticles. His head is bowed, and the sun peeking over the roof slashes diagonally across his face; the natural auburn accents in his wild, unkempt hair catch fire in the light.

He carries his gaze up to my face. Those keen eyes, once mesmerizing, now curdle my stomach.

 _MK_.

Talk about a real blast from the past; I haven't heard that name in a long time. Four years, to be exact. Dominic coined it when I was five, and although I threw one hell of a tantrum the first time he said it, it eventually started to grow on me. It became a special name, one only he was allowed to use.

The last time he uttered it was when I was in high school. A freshman - fifteen years old, and severely misunderstood. Complete with matte black hair dye and smokey eyes. I'd gotten into a gnarly fight with Kinsey Buyers (A.K.A. The Slut-bag of South Division, and my worst nemesis) during P.E., after I overheard her and her faceless side-kick talking about Elaine in the bathroom stalls.

She insulted her. Called her mental. Said she belonged in an asylum with the "other crazies." That maybe, by some miraculous happenstance, she'd be transported to the right facility and be reunited with our mo—

I didn't give her the chance to finish that thought. As soon as the door swung open, I clocked her - broke her nose, _and_ my ring finger. And on her way to meet the linoleum floor, I snatched a chunk of her weave and ripped it clean out of her head. (Had her blood under my fingernails for a week.)

It took our coach, three seniors, and a security guard named Lou to pull me off of her.

The principal suspended me for two weeks, and instead of calling my father to come pick me up, he called Dominic. Unlike my father, Dominic was less likely to be stuck working overtime at the museum, or off in the states somewhere at a dig.

He rolled up in his silver tundra, looking like a million bucks with his hair slicked back into a pompadour and his shirt tucked neatly into his jeans. Any other day, the sight would've stirred the pot of butterflies. But that day, it did nothing for me. I kept my head low to avoid his disappointed scowl, cradled my bandaged hand to my body, and climbed wordlessly into the truck.

If I close my eyes and focus hard enough, I can still remember how it smelled - like stale cigarettes and heated leather.

The drive to my house was long. Agonizingly so. Aside from the _tap-tap-tap_ of his fingers on the wheel, and the occasional cough, neither of us made a sound.

It wasn't until we'd turned the corner onto my street that he slipped his fingers under my non-bandaged hand and squeezed.

"MK," he whispered. So soft-spoken. So warm. "We can't keep doing this."

I stared out the window. Eyes fixed on nothing.

"I've done a bloody good job of keeping my promise, wouldn't you say? I’ve kept my mouth shut — haven’t said a word to Henry about the fights, nor have I told him about the parties. I haven’t told him about the night I picked you up, partly conscious, from a strangers’ house. I haven’t told him about the times I had to sneak you into your own home, knowing that your father — my _best friend_ — was only a room away.” He squeezed my hand tight. “But this, MK — _suspension_? I can’t protect you from this. I _won’t_ protect you from this. We have to tell your father the truth.”

“No.”

“No?” Dominic scoffed. Soft-spoken voice, gone. Warmth, gone. “ _No_? Do you have the faintest idea how awful I feel about this, this…going behind your fathers’ back? Betraying his trust? Could you even begin to comprehend the tremendous amount of guilt I feel each time I have to lie to him?”

“I don’t care.”

“You don’t care?”

My eyes stung, so I closed them.

“Jesus H. Christ.” Dominic seized his hand, and I knew without having to look that he was raking it through his roots. _Bye-bye, pompadour_. “Do you have any idea how much stress you’re putting on him? How much stress you’re putting on _me_? Are you really this goddamn selfish?”

_Yes._

Yes, I really was.

But I didn't say that. I couldn't. A tear glided down my cheek, and that was my only response.

"We're telling him. End of discussion."

“I hate you.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do.”

“MK, I’m trying to help you. You’ve made so much progress this year…it hurts me to see you letting it all go to waste. And maybe…maybe it’s my fault, partly.” He reached out to me again. “But, you’re _better_ than this—”

“Stop pretending you know who I am.” I whipped my head around. Saw his hand coming for me and dove back into the seat. The truck had stopped long ago, at the end of my driveway. I scooped up my bag, mindful of my injury, and threw open the door. “You don’t know _anything_ about me.”

And I turned my back on him because I wouldn’t allow myself to witness the way his eyes dimmed, steadily. Or the way he pinched his pale lips. Or the way his face twisted into a tormented expression as he mumbled, “No. I guess I don’t.”

Because if I’d turned around, I might have felt sympathy for him. I might have forgiven him. Matter of fact, I _would_ have forgiven him.

For a time after, we didn’t speak. Dad grounded me, obviously. He put me on house arrest: hid the keys to his car, took away my credit card. He even went so far as to bolt my windows shut so I couldn’t open them.

Dominic avoided me, which was fine; and I pretended my heart wasn’t splintering to pieces, which was fine for everybody else.

I'll be the first to admit that the memory isn't one of my fondest. It doesn't trigger a sense of nostalgia, or make me feel warm and tingly inside. But the fact that Dominic is calling me this now - "MK." - with that same tender familiarity is enough to break my heart all over again. This time, out of pure joy.

And yet, it's...repulsive.

Knowing what I now know about him - knowing the truth about his grandfather and the insidious things he's done to Maluhia's people - well, I can no longer permit myself to trust him.

Curtly, I say, "We don't _need_ to do anything."

I bounce up the steps and cross the room to my sleeping mat.

Dominic sighs. “MK—”

“And stop calling me that. You lost the right to call me that when you broke your promise to me.”

“How long must you hold that over my head?”

“Until you die, or come down with a severe case of Alzheimer’s.”

 _Sheesh_ , McKenna.

Okay. Time-out. Even _I_ don’t know where that came from. My sincerest apologies and condolences to anyone who knows someone struggling with Alzheimer’s. it is a terrible, terrible disease, and I’ll make sure to reign in my tongue next time.

Hurt flashes across Dominic’s face. As I did that day in his truck, I turn away and kneel next to my bag.

“I…I see,” he says.

A chilling breeze moves through the _fale_ , and I catch a whiff of myself. I frown. Sniff my arm.

_Ugh._

I smell like the butt-end of The Ocean, all salt and no sweat. And the sunburn in my face and shoulders is beginning to grow discomforting. I’ll have to seek out some Aloe Vera on my way out. There’s a hidden waterfall I found in one of the lagoons. It has a nice view, and makes for a _great_ shower…

I blink.

_Whoa. Déjà vu, much?_

That’s almost exactly what Maui said that day in the clearing. Minus, you know, the snark and playful smirk.

My heart thumps painfully in my chest.

“It was the right thing to do,” Dominic says. “You know that, don’t you?”

“Dominic, I don’t care if it was the right thing to do.” I ball up a fresh pair of clothes, wrap them inside a towel and tuck it under my arm. My eyes are welling up again, a mixture of my frustration at this discussion and the overload of information I had to deal with this morning. “What I care about is that you broke your promise to me. And because of that, my father didn’t speak to me for three whole months. I had to take a bi-weekly drug test for — God, I can’t even tell you how long. Whatever friends I had left ditched me. I couldn’t turn to Elaine without her looking down at me in contempt. I lost _every_ thing. Tell me, how does that make what you did the ‘right thing’?”

“It kept you safe. Better yet, it kept you out of a ditch somewhere, dead.”

“Maybe that’s what I wanted.”

“It wasn’t.”

“How would you know?”

“Because I know you, McKenna!” Dominic shouts. I flinch. I can count on one hand the number of times he’s ever raised his voice at me. It was never like this. Never. “Whether you believe it or not, I _know_ you. And I know that all you wanted was attention from _some_ body, and you were going to get it, even if it killed you. _Literally_!”

“Dominic—”

“I saved your life, goddammit!”

“ _What_ life?” I retort, just as loud, and throw up my arms. The bundle hits the floor and unravels. “As far as I'm concerned, I didn’t _have_ a life. I slept in late because I couldn’t find the strength to get out of bed; I skipped all of my classes because I had zero motivation to go; and I spent every evening getting trashed or getting high at some random Joe’s house because I wanted to feel something, if only for a brief moment. It was the same old rinse and repeat — and I barely remember any of it. I didn’t have a single person who understood my pain.

“So, when you stepped in and promised not to tell my father what I was doing, it made me think: hey. Maybe I’m not alone, after all. Maybe someone _does_ understand. For years after my mother…I didn’t care if I lived or not. Sometimes, I still…” My throat decides to clamp shut, and my voice cracks on the last two words. I’m crying so hard I blow a snot bubble. Which is, like… _ew_. And it totally kills the mood.

I slap my hands over my face, angry with myself for being this weak and vulnerable. Especially around Dominic.

He waits patiently for the storm to pass. Doesn’t dare take a step forward.

_Smart man._

When I’ve got no more tears to shed, I shake my hands, clear my throat, and pick up my things.

“But, we’re getting off topic,” I say. “What did you need to talk to me about?”

“I want to know what happened on that island.”

I scoff. “You already know. My father told you.”

“Please. I know him well enough to know when he’s keeping a secret from me.”

I roll my eyes.

_I dub thee, Sir Dominic: The Man Who Knows Everybody._

“You said a name back in the lagoon — _Maui_ — and I want you to tell me about him.” Dominic steps forward. Stoops down so we’re eye-level. “Who is he? What did he look like? Did he say anything to you?”

It pains me to say it, but I do. “Maui isn’t real, Dominic. I made him up. Dad was right: I was… _hallucinating_.”

“Are you sure?”

“Why do you care so much, anyway?”

“Just…” Just. Dominic’s favorite passive-aggressive expression. He closes his eyes and sucks in a breath, calming himself. “Just humor me, McKenna.”

_Humor you? As you wish._

“Fine.” I wipe my eyes and square my shoulders. “Maui is real.” Dominic’s eyes fly open, and he perks up instantly. I grin. “Oh, yeah. He came out of the woods wearing a loin cloth, screaming and banging on his chest. You know the way Carol Burnett does her Tarzan call? Yeah, he sounded just like that. He was blue — like those alien creatures from Avatar? — and had eyes that, like, changed color every thirty seconds. He enchanted me with his velvety voice, and we danced the merengue—”

Dominic takes a mighty step forward. The simple act enables him with a broader, taller, more intimidating frame. And worse, it elicits fear into my heart.

I rush to step around him. He grabs my arms, gripping tight, and shoves me up against the nearest support beam. I wince.

“Ow.”

“This isn’t a game, kiddo,” he says. There’s an abnormal rasp to his voice now; he no longer sounds like Dominic. “I want you to tell me the truth. _Now_.” His hands continue to squeeze my arms. My skin pounds furiously beneath the pads of his fingers. “And no bull-shit. If you leave anything out, I swear to God, McKenna, I’ll—”

He doesn’t have to finish the threat. The shudder that races up my body and the horror evident on my face reads **Message Received** , loud and clear.

And I hate it. How powerless I feel. I fought, tooth and nail, to shed my fragile skin and put a bit of steel in my backbone. I vowed that I would never let another man intimidate me, or walk over me for as long as I lived…

And this, right here, just goes to show that I haven’t fought hard enough.

Because when all is said and done, the only thing I can say is: “D-Dominic. You’re hurting me.”

_Like some pathetic damsel in distress._

Dominic’s forehead unwrinkles. He blinks away the turbulent haze in his eyes, and looks down at his hands. Sees them coiled around my biceps, shaking madly, his digits paled from pressing in too hard. He yanks his arms back. A shaky breath escapes him.

“I…McKenna, I’m so…”

I shove past him, taking the steps two at a time. The minute my foot touches grass, my muscles coil in preparation to run. Run away from here, as far as I can, and never look back.

The realization is stark and painful: the Dominic I know — used to know — is dead. He threatened me. _Threatened_ me. This, coming from the man who I believed, since the minute I was able to form my first rational thought, was too good-natured and kind to harm a soul.

But I surprise myself.

I don’t run.

I plant both feet, toes curling in protest, and glance over my shoulder. The words are out before I can grasp them, “You know, it’s a shame that we haven’t found the Heart yet.”

The skin around Dominic’s nape tenses. He peers back at me. And this time, when our eyes meet, my insides remain as calm and steady as the waters of Maui’s stream.

_I’m not powerless. All that fighting wasn’t in vain._

_I can make threats, too,_ Mini _._

I say with the hint of a smile, “I _know_ just how badly you want to get your hands on it.”

The color drains from his face. He whirls.

I clutch my things to my chest and book it for the underbrush. And since I’m lighter on my feet, and can easily navigate these forests, I lose him well before he exits the fale.

~~~

A misty fog encapsulates Ona's hut. It smells like vinegar (oddly) and teak oil.

I perform a quick 360 to make sure Dominic isn't tailing me - I've been avoiding him like the plague all day - and then duck through the beaded curtain.

The inside of the hut is hot and hazy, like a sauna. The room is wide and shaped like a hexagon. No windows. No _kapa_ cloths. Candles are lit along the walls, packed tight into the corners. Flower petals, crock bowls filled with powders, and vials containing questionable substances liter the far side of the room, next to a stack of wooden planks, and a mortar and pestle.

At the center rests Elaine, covered in a blanket bearing an unknown Māori deity (one that most likely has to do with healing, in some way), and her head elevated with a cushion. A damp cloth covers her forehead.

A clump of incense burns in a bowl beside her.

Ona is nowhere to be found, which is a blessing in disguise. (I don’t think she likes me very much. Plus, she’s scary.) In her stead is Richard, sitting hunched over Elaine. His sketch pad rests on his bouncing knee. The page is blank, which is rare.

Richard is _always_ drawing.

At the clacking of the beads, he raises his head. He’s paler than what his already-waxen pigment can possibly allow, and the bruising of his lids tells me that he hasn’t slept a wink these past few days. His clothes are the same as they were yesterday. Maybe even the day before. And his hair, by God — talk about _greasy_.

“I’ll come back later,” I whisper, parting the curtain with my hand and turning to leave.

“Wait.” Richard thrusts out his hand. I wait. “Come in, please.”

Nodding my head, I let the beads slip through my fingers and step further into the hut. Richard scoops up his satchel, filled to max capacity with his oil paints, felt-tip pens and sable brushes, and pats the space next to him.

“Sit with me a while?” He asks.

 _Pleads_.

I swallow past the lump in my throat. Movements slow, I tip-toe around Elaine and sit, putting a careful distance between Richard and myself.

I mean, he’s _Dominic’s son_. How do I know if I can still trust him when I’m not entirely sure where his loyalties lie?

As soon as I’m at his side, he exhales. He sets the sketch pad between us, and after a few seconds of staring down, despondent, at his pencil, he sets it down as well. I circle my arms around my kneecaps and rest my chin on my wrist. In a quiet voice, I say, “Artist’s block?”

“Huh?” He glances down at the blank page. “Oh. Yeah. I guess you could call it that.”

“You blame yourself.”

“What gave it away?”

I shrug a shoulder. “Nothing in particular. ’S just something you people like to do when things go wrong.”

“What do you mean by ‘you people’?” Richard asks.

“I mean, _you people_ : you, Elaine, my dad…whenever something goes wrong, you guys are always the first ones to jump aboard the Blame Train.” I rock back on my tailbone and wave my hand. “Always going on about, ‘What if I did this,’ and, ‘What if I did that.’ It’s bull-shit. I don’t know why you guys even bother. It’s human nature for shit to go sideways sometimes. Hell, it happens so frequently, some guy wrote a _law_ about it.”

Richard squints at me. “What on earth are you…?” Then he gets it. “Ah.” He rocks back, too. “You’re not talking about the storm or Elaine’s fever. You’re talking about…”

He hesitates.

“You can say it, Richie. My suicide attempt.”

The words taste like bile coming up my throat, but I’m proud of myself for finally acknowledging them. For so long after my attempt, I lived in a state of denial, assuring people that I hadn't tried to take my own life. That it was a dumb mistake. That I really _wanted_ to live.

It took a little girl with a feistier temper than mine to help me see that.

Richard, however, shifts uncomfortably. I continue as if I hadn’t noticed, “Elaine blames herself for my stupid choice, just like you blame yourself for not being on the same boat as us. You think that if you’d been there, you could have prevented something bad from happening. But that’s not how the universe works. People won’t magically stop thinking about killing themselves just because you’re there; and crazy, phantom storms will still wreck your boat and leave you stranded on a deserted island.”

“That was…” Richard chuckles. Muffles it in his wrist. “That was oddly poetic, McKenna. And remarkably pessimistic.”

“I’ve been told I’m pretty good with words.”

“And you’re not the least bit drunk? Or high?” His hand falls atop my head, and he ruffles my hair. “Hullo?” He asks, distorting his voice. “Can you hear me through all the buzzing? Are you thirsty? Hungry? Should I scrounge up some onion rings?”

“Oh, would you—” I light slap his arm away, giggling despite the gloomy atmosphere I’d created. He pulls back his arm, smiling wide.

Then he hooks his arm around my neck and crushes me to his side. My face is forcibly smushed against his collar; my nose is dangerously close to his arm-pit, but it’s not like it matters: he reeks of B.O. _everywhere_. I wrestle my hands between our bodies and start to push.

And that’s when I feel the shaking. Feel the rapid-fire pulsing of his chest. Hear the one or two sobs that leak out of him, unrestrained and anguished. His other hand rises to cup the side of my face, and that’s when it hits me.

It’s not just Elaine that Richard is afraid of losing. It’s me, too.

I only saw him a handful of times in the hospital, but each time he entered my room, I always got the sense that something was wrong. Like he was holding back, purposefully keeping himself as far away from me as he could. And after I was discharged, he went right back to acting as if things were normal, which, at the time, I viewed as nothing less than a humongous breath of relief.

I hadn’t surmised that my suicide attempt would rattle him so badly. I mean, why would it? Sure, he was married to my sister, but it’s not like we were ever that close to begin with.

I close my eyes and lean into him. I breathe through my mouth, because that’s the only way I can keep up this sentimental gunk without barfing. I wait for him to cry himself out, and thankfully, it doesn’t take too long. With a loving peck to my forehead, he ruffles my hair once more and releases me.

I slide back to my original spot. Something rips beneath my thigh. I start.

“Shit!” I hastily pick up Richard’s sketch pad. The blank page has been promptly torn from the coil, and the page beneath it is creased in several different areas. “I’m so sorry, Richie,” I say.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“No, I should have been paying more atten—”

As I’m working out the creased, I become conscious of the drawings on the page. Of the curly, voluminous black hair. Of the cute, piggish nose. Of the bulging muscles, stained with ~~mysteriously moving~~ ink. All of it, captured masterfully. Even the slight gap in his front teeth…

“Richard…this is…”

“Oh. That. I meant to tell you about that.” He scoots closer, till our shoulders are touching, and points a finger at Maui’s fish-hook. “Would you say these carvings are accurate? I did my best, but Elaine’s descriptions weren’t exactly transparent. And she said that you were the only one who got close enough to see it, so I wanted to get your opinion.”

“Wait, wait, wait. Back up that truck.” I whack my knuckles against the sketch pad, incredulous. “You drew this based on _Elaine’s description_?” I flip the page to another full-body sketch of Maui. This one, however, is kind of gangly, with less tattoos, a button nose and an afro. (A sight I would suddenly love to see put into practice.) “When did she…?”

“She’s been in-and-out all day,” he says. “Each time she comes back, she starts describing him, picking right back up where she left off. I don’t know whether to be jealous or impressed: she memorized _everything_ about him. Fever and all.”

I exhale slowly and flip to the next page. I find myself staring into Maui’s stenciled eyes. The drawing is a close-up of his round face. Every wrinkle on his forehead is as I remember them, and the tilt of his smirk is a perfect replica. And though the eyes are charcoal and gray, there are tiny spots that are lighter than the rest — the yellow-gold flecks, I recognize them to be.

I’m so mystified by the drawing, stroking my thumbs over the edges of the paper, I miss Richard standing and walking toward the curtain.

“McKenna?”

“Hm?”

“Did you hear me?”

“Ugh…” I shake my head, blushing furiously. “Negative, ghost rider. What did you say?”

“I said I’m going to get cleaned up. I haven’t bathed in almost four days; I’m surprised you let me hold you for so long.”

“What can I say? I have iron lungs.”

_Comes from having a father with a sensitive digestive tract. God forbid you put Sriracha sauce on his burger._

“Will you be good to watch her for a bit?” Richard asks, glancing pointedly at Elaine.

“Of course. Go do what you have to do.”

Richard tips his head, hesitates briefly, and steps through the beaded curtain. Eyes trained on his back, I watch him until he fades completely into the night. And I continue to wait, until the beads cease their clacking, listening hard for foot-falls that might be creeping toward the hut.

Five minutes pass.

_The coast is clear._

Pinching the top of the paper between my fingers, I rip it free from the coil and tuck it under my leg. I do the same with the other drawings of Maui, until not a single trace of him is left; Richard can hate me all he wants, but if these drawings get back to Dominic, my ass is grass. I don’t know why Maui’s appearance would be important to Dominic, and frankly, I don’t care. I just know that I'll do whatever it takes to keep him from getting his hands on these.

And even though Richard and I had a little heart-to-heart just now, I’m still on the fence about him.

I flip to the cover of the sketch pad, stuff it into his satchel, and reach for the drawings of Maui.

But they’re gone.

My eyes bulge, and as I rise to stand, Elaine stirs. I freeze.

She’s wide awake, and she has the papers. She’s holding them above her head, staring intently into Maui’s deep-set eyes.

“Richard captured him perfectly,” she says. She angles her head and looks at me. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Elaine…”

“I don’t know what’s happening to me.” Elaine draws her arms into her chest. She presses the pages close to her sternum. Her eyes glisten with unshed tears. “It’s like…there are so many noises inside my head. Voices. All of them, speaking at once.”

With everything I’ve learned today, it’s no wonder that I believe her.

“What do they say?” I ask.

Elaine shakes her head. “I don’t know. I can’t understand them. I just know that they want something from me. Something I don’t know if I can give them.” Her fingers shake. She pinches her eyes shut and tucks her chin into her chest. “She told me that they would stop…but they’re…so loud…”

She lets go of the papers and reaches for her temples. I grab her wrists on the way up and clasp her hands in mine.

“I’m scared, McKenna,” she says.

“I know,” I say. “I know.”

“W-will you lay down with me for a while?” She asks, bottom lip wobbling. “Just until I fall asleep again?”

I nod. And nod, and nod, and nod, and nod.

I grab the papers, fold them, and tuck them into the waistband of my shorts. Then I lift the blanket and slip in beside Elaine. She rolls onto her side, the cloth slipping off of her head, and burrows into me. A quivering, sniffling, feverish mess.

And for the life of me, I hold her.

“It’s okay,” I whisper. “We’re okay.”

But I think we both know, that’s not true. And after tonight, it probably won’t be ever again.

~~~

_"Back in your fale," I begin, "When I overheard you and Dominic talking, you said something about his grandfather. Was...was his grandfather a part of the group that came before us?"_

_Maluhia hesitates before answering. "Yes. Mr. Wyman's grandfather came here to steal the Heart."_

_"And did he succeed?"_

_"I wish he had,_ mumua itiiti _. I wish he had.”_

_My blood chills. Furrowing my brows, I say, “What does that mean?”_

_Maluhia pinches the bridge of her nose, as if in excruciating pain. Two teardrops fall straight from her left eye, and The Ocean laps up onto the rock to steal them away._

_“Because she’s dying,” she groans. “She's dying, and it’s all that bastards’ fault.”_

She _? Is this the same “_ she _” Elaine was referring to back on Maui's island?_

_“Who is she, Maluhia?” I duck my head, hoping to catch her eye, but she refuses. So, I reach out my hand and take hers. Squeeze it tightly. Imploringly. “Who is dying?”_

_“Te Fiti,” she finally says, a sob following shortly after. “Te Fiti is dying.” Her head whips up suddenly. Our eyes meet. I see years worth of agony and suffering clouding her watery depths. Her fingers clench around mine, and in as soft a voice she can muster, she whispers, “And_ you _are the only one who can save her.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! >.</


	16. Wedding, Part One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys!! So, my plan to have this chapter up between Christmas and New Years shattered like into a million pieces like glass on concrete. My apologies. 
> 
> Chapters like this will become more and more frequent the further into the story we go. They won't comprise, like, fifty percent of the actual story, but there will be a decent number of them. This chapter is more of a filler, but it's a prologue of sorts to future chapters to come. 
> 
> Starting today, I'll be making no more promises as to when chapters will be up. I find that if I make promises, the pressure to entertain increases, and my performance grows sloppy. (Such as with this chapter; I REALLY feel like I under-performed.) I'm writing this story because I genuinely care about it, and I want the people reading (you) to love it and enjoy it as well. 
> 
> Chapters will come out once a month. If inspiration strikes, maybe there will be more. 
> 
> For now, I hope you enjoy this chapter, and I'll see you all when I see you! 
> 
>  
> 
> McKenna's Playlist >> Alternative Mix:
> 
> never happy - lil happy lil sad

_**Milwaukee, Wisconsin  
** _

_**February 18, 2016** _

"What do you mean, 'you don't want to have the wedding here?'"

The thundering reverberation of Dad's words travel from Herzfeld Hall into The European Village, jolting me off of the bench. The needle I hold in my hand, pierced through the durable fabric of the costume I've been tasked with repairing, pricks a hole in the tip of my finger. I curse, fling the costume aside, and poke my head around the corner of the building.

Hastening through the tunnel, hands crammed in the pockets of her cardigan, is Elaine, with Dad hounding after her like a rabid animal - teeth gnashing, pupils constricted.

Our eyes meet, and I read in them, clear as day, "Kill me, kill me, for the love of God, _kill me_."

Shuffling after them, a few paces shy, is Richard. Swiveling and bobbing his head. Taking in the faux European-style homes and inexpressive wax figures inside them. The index and middle fingers of his left hand drum against his thigh.

Already, I can see him putting together palettes in his mind. Dutch white for the walls, perhaps; umber, or maybe even carob, for the crossbeams and posts; a nice phthalo green for the window frames and doors; I've been hanging around him so much lately, I'm starting to sound like Bob Ross.

From the awe-filled wonder practically beaming from his eyes, I can tell that this is his first time being here. Which is strange, considering all three of us - myself, Dad and Elaine - frequent the museum on a daily basis. Most notably, The European Village, because it's so damn quiet and empty the majority of the time.

I mean, there's no denying it's allure; I've had people come up to me while I'm working and ramble on about how enchanting everything is.

The European Village is a nice, rural slice of European life as it were between the 1870s and 1920s. The homes and shops are constructed out of stucco and stone, splashed in pastel white and unsaturated greens and blues; ivy trails the terracotta rooftops, wringing its vines around the iron-wrought windows and balconies, and trickling from plant-hangers and light fixtures; and the roads are paved with cobblestone.

Inside each home, or over-looking a balcony, is a wax figure, permanently frozen in time. Each one performing a mundane task - mundane, that is, for their time - such as repairing a toy boat, inspecting a fiddle, sewing, painting or reading a book. (A word to the wise: there's a window in one of the alleys that contains two children peeking through the curtains, steadily watching your every move. It is freaky as hell - but seeing peoples' reactions to them is pure gold.)

The square of the village consists of a waist-high cobblestone wall, a fountain, two paper mache replicas of alder trees, and a wax figure of a beggar sitting on a ledge next to the wall, cast in a brilliant orange-gold from the lamppost above his head.

So, you see? It's a treasure - not as big of a treasure as The Old Streets of Milwaukee, but a treasure nonetheless.

But I'll tell you one thing: if you spend half of your waking hours here, like _moi_ , it stops being enchanting, and starts to look like a scrapped setting for _The Wizard of Oz_. Where, instead of yellow-brick roads, singing scarecrows and Munchkinlanders, you have this depressing village dipped in somber hues and sprinkled with unsmiling, unhappy wax people.

And don't even get me started on the whole European Village Alive! thing.

The whole _dressing up and acting the part of some German-or-Swedish-or-Hungarian-or-other_ isn't really something one should brag about. In no way is it the ideal first job. If anything, it's a death sentence. Especially if your high school rep is already stained by years of mental and emotional meltdowns, and narcotic and alcohol abuse; then you run the risk of, oh, I dunno, having the entire football team come out just to poke fun at you in a costume, take pictures, and fantasize about you in lederhosen. 

Just, you know, for example.

And if you're (un)lucky like me and have a relative who works in a museum - and, bonus, just so happens to be higher up on the employment food chain - then congratulations: you now have ease of access to the jobs people don't normally _want_ to have.

But if it earns me a little bit of extra pocket cash, then who am I to complain?

Elaine ducks her head as she passes. She hoists herself up onto the ledge of the fountain, like she used to do all the time when we were kids. Dad blew several gaskets over that back in the day, but he'd always been too busy with work to set the proper foundation for punishment; it was always Mom who came to his rescue, Mom who exercised power and discipline.

But Mom isn't here anymore.

Besides, it's not like it matters, anyway: Dad is too busy reminding himself to breathe - in through the nose, out through the mouth - and isn't the least bit concerned with reprimanding her.

"I don't understand," he says.

"I'm sorry, daddy, but the decision has already been made." Elaine crosses her ankles and folds her arms over her chest. "Richard and I will _not_ be having a museum wedding."

My eyes widen.

_Is she...?_

No. She wouldn't...

_But she is._

Elaine is fixing Dad with Mom's infamous Glower. I'd caught her practicing it several times to her reflection in the bathroom mirror, but I never would have suspected that _this_ would be the reason why she would need to use it.

And I have to say, all that practicing has paid off, because she looks exactly like Mom. Like, the resemblance is suddenly a little _too_ uncanny to be funny.

She's nailed the expression and supporting mannerisms down to a T: the drumming of her left fingers, from pinky to forefinger, over the plain of her tricep; the partly squinted eyes and level stare through thick lashes; the subtle arch of her threaded brow; and the pursing of her lips, mouth quirked ever so slightly to the right. The only compelling pieces of evidence that set Elaine apart from Mom in this moment are her crystal-water blues - Carbon copies of Dads' - and her true Northern pallor.

Plus, if it actually _were_ Mom, the Glower would have already brought entire nations to their knees. Bent the whole world into submission.

Since it's Elaine, it just looks like a perfect imitation. Worthy of commemoration.

_Still_ , I think. _Foul play, all the same._

I glance at dad, curious to see his reaction. To my disappointment, he isn't the slightest bit thrown off or phased. If anything, the display only angers him more.

"But..." He blusters a moment, then spits out, "But why _not_?"

Elaine lifts a bony shoulder. "I told you," she says, "I want to have the wedding at the Four Seasons Resort in Bora Bora. It's where I've _always_ wanted to have my wedding - _since I was a kid_. You'd know that if you'd been around more."

_Youch_.

Dad's face contorts, into something I've never quite seen before. On him, or otherwise. It's a mixture of pain - like Elaine's words physically socked him in the groin - anger, and surprise. The skin beneath his eyes, painted blue with a lack of sleep, pulls taut.

"Bethany already purchased the table linens for the event," he says, voice measured.

"Great. We can take those with us to Bora Bora."

A splotchy redness swells in his cheeks. Charlie pulses to life in his left temple. "Denny and I already scheduled a date for the museum to be closed."

"That's unfortunate."

Dad throws up his hands. The suddenness of it causes Richard, whom has claimed the seat next to the old beggar, to jump. He drops his pencil, and with a yelp, he lunges for it.

In the same tumultuous, disappointed voice, Dad says, "Do you know how long it took me to convince Denny to let you have your wedding here? How much money I spent taking him out to lunch? How much I catered to his every whim and desire - groveled at his feet like a fucking dog - just so you two could have your special day here, _absolutely free of charge_?"

"I never asked you to do that," Elaine replies, the tone of her voice ice cold.

"And now—" Dad ignores her and rambles on, wrestling his hands through his mousy curls. "—you want to let all of that effort go to waste and whisk away to _Bora Bora_!" Said in a contemptuous manner.

From an outsiders' perspective, it might seem as if he's having a psychotic breakdown. But to Elaine and I, he's just being dad: our crazy, melodramatic, bullheaded dad.

"Richard!" He whirls and snaps his finger.

Said individual is sitting on the floor, rocked back on his ankles, inspecting his pencil for any signs of damage. At Dad's exclamation, he raises his head. Eyes foggy. Totally nonplussed by the goings-on around him. His eyes cross as they focus on the tip of Dad's finger, wagging mere inches from his face.

"What say you?" Dad asks.

My eyebrows bunch, and I look at Elaine. I mouth, _"What say you?"_

She sighs in exasperation.

"M-me?" Richard clambers back to the stone ledge and retakes his seat.

I muffle a laugh.

Seated like that, hunched at the waist with his arms drawn inward and the corners of his mouth sagging, he looks exactly like the wax buffoon beside him.

"Yes, _you_. What do you think about all this?"

"What do _I_ think?"

When I was a little girl, I thought for the longest time that Dad was a robot, because whenever he heard or saw something of an appalling or imbecilic nature, he would literally _shut down_ : his skin would flush, his lips would fall into a stoic line, and his eyes would go dead. And I don't mean that latter part as an expression - the coloring of his irises would lose their intensity and shine, and in certain lighting appear as a dull gray.

Like, now. For instance.

Like an old, vintage PC, it takes a while for Dad to reboot. When he does, he sets a hand on his hip and pinches the bridge of his nose.

Elaine hops to her feet. "Dad—"

"No, Elaine," he says, holding up a hand. "You've said your piece, now let Richard say his. So. Let's try this again, son." Dad strides forward, and with each fall of his foot, Richard draws further and further into himself. Dad stops when the tips of his shoes overlap Richards'. He stoops down, so that they're eye level. "Where do _you_ think the wedding should be held?"

Richard drums his fingers over the back of his sketchpad. "Um..." His eyes flick to Elaine. She channels Mom's Glower again, and though it didn't have the intended effects on Dad, it has Richard quivering like a leaf. "I, ugh, I concur with Elaine, Mr. Wolford, sir. Bora Bora is where we should...where we should host the reception."

Dad narrows his eyes, as if he's seeing Richard for the first time. The _real_ Richard - the _always compliant with Elaine because he hasn't the teensiest shred of back-bone to argue_ Richard.

Callously, he says, "You may be my best friends' son, but you will _never_ be family to me."

Richard pales; his face crumples, and it seems as if he might actually burst into tears.

Elaine stomps her foot. " _Daddy_! This is ridiculous - you're taking this way too far!"

"Apparently, not far enough." Dad paces to the center of the square. Keeping his back to us, he crosses his arms and says, "I should just go ahead and pull the plug on this whole wedding debacle entirely."

Elaine gasps. Tears instantly spring forth and rush down her cheeks. It's the first time I've seen her cry since...well, I can't remember. After we lost Mom, she made it a rule never to cry in public, and certainly never around me. She said that I used to get really bad panic attacks whenever I saw her crying.

I don't remember that, either, but if she says that's what happened, then there's a high probability that it did.

"You wouldn't dare," she whispers, lips trembling.

"Oh, but I would." Dad peers over his shoulder at her. "It's your choice, Elaine: it's either here at the museum, or nowhere at all. Understand?"

Elaine's shoulders slump, and her knees knock together. My body flinches toward her, hands reaching out to catch her. Afraid that she might collapse or, worse, faint.

But she doesn't. She rights herself, sets her shoulders, and, in an octave higher than what she normally speaks in, she shouts, "Mom would have let me have the wedding in Bora Bora! But she's gone, and it's all your fault! It should have been you... _it should have been you_!"

And leaving no room for further discussion, she books it for the exit.

"Elaine!" Richard shoves his sketchpad and pencil into his satchel and runs after her.

The silence that comes with the disappearance of their foot-steps is jarring. Suddenly light-headed, I lean back and sink to the bench, pondering Elaine's words.

_But she's gone, and it's all your fault!_ It should have been you _!_

I swallow past the dryness in my throat. She didn't mean that. I _know_ she didn't. Elaine would never... _never_...

A familiar chime sounds from Dads' hip, knocking my train of thought off its current course. With sloth-like reflexes, he lifts the hem of his shirt and unclips the pager from the waistband of his jeans. He reads the message quietly, then returns the pager to its place.

"How much longer do you have?"

It takes me a moment to realize that he's talking to me, and even longer still to understand what he's talking about.

"Oh. Ugh...not long."

He nods. And nods, and nods, and keeps on nodding.

There's really nothing left for either one of us to say. His head inclines, as if in consideration to speak, but his Adam's Apple bobs in defiance. Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he starts in the opposite direction as Elaine and Richard.

He rounds the bend that leads into The Old Streets of Milwaukee, and disappears into the dark.


	17. Promise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, lovelies. I missed you~
> 
> McKenna's Playlist >> Shuffle:
> 
> Burn - Låpsley  
> Embody Me - Novo Amor

In the twenty years I've been alive, I swear, there has never been a day as mindlessly and as unimaginably hot as this.

I don't need a thermostat to verify that it's easily 100° Fahrenheit and rising. The sun, seated directly overhead like a bright and domineering tyrant, emits a heat so stifling that it's nearly impossible to breathe; it hangs thick in the air, a merciless, suffocating presence, stretching throughout all the reaches of Motunui. The mountains. The lagoons. The forests. The village. Even in the shade, no one is exempt from its wrath.

To put it mildly, it is _so hot_ and _so dry_ , the grass is _sizzling_. I keep waiting for the blades to combust, to hear the _whuff_ of flames and smell smoke.

As a result, the village has fallen into a torpid lull. The cacophonous song of hard physical labor, laughter and chatter has ceased indefinitely, and has been replaced with agonized moans. Even the pigs in their sties are snorting and groaning in anguish. Their incessant sloshing about in the mud can be heard from here.

Every _kapa_ cloth of every _fale_ is rolled up, in hopes of a breeze we all know will never come. As a Plan B, Akoni's stock pile of banana leaves have been equally distributed to each family and are being utilized as fans.

The flame pit in the _tunoa_ has yet to be lit today, let alone acknowledged. Located at the heart of the village, the pit acts as a heater as well as a cooking stove, supplying warmth to the rest of the village. On a cold night, the added warmth could be seen as comforting. A true blessing in disguise. But on a day like this, should someone dare to light it, the excess heat would be too much to bear. People would start dropping left and right like fly's due to heat stroke.

It seems the villagers would rather starve than bake to death, and, personally, I have no objections.

A group of children attempted to brave the heat earlier this morning, despite the warnings of their elders. They took off, buck-naked and cackling hysterically, in the direction of the lagoon, hoping that a nice dip in The Ocean would help to cool them off.

Five minutes later, they returned, their fragile skin pinked up and swollen all to hell. I watched them shuffle, dispirited and miserable, to their homes, where their parents awaited them with scowls on their faces that read, "See? I told you so."

At the very least, I commend them for trying. The slightest bit of movement - the involuntary twitch of a finger - is enough to paint a slippery layer of perspiration on my forehead.

Sweat pools in all my nooks and crannies, and I've yet to do anything remotely strenuous!

Unless you consider "strenuous" to be sitting in the shade of a _fale_ and pining over an outrageously hot Demi-God. If that's the case, then _woof_. I am _spent_.

Packed together in the guest _fale_ , strewn about like downed soldiers on a battlefield, we - myself, Abdul, Matt, Corinne and Rayne - are doing our damnedest to endure this hellish weather while we wait for Dad and Dominic to return. Abdul had it in his head for us to go down to the lagoon with the children and cool ourselves off in The Ocean as well, but one look at their red eyes and horror-ridden expressions and he thought better of it. So, we've striped ourselves down to the bear minimum instead, flinging aside all modesty and shame.

I can see it now - this moment becoming the highlight of our trip. The most memorable thing we look back on.

Wasted an entire summer on a tropical island because Maluhia's people refused to take us to Te Fiti? No matter! We'll have a few drinks, share a few laughs and reminisce about how we bonded over our mutual nudity and suffering.

_I can't wait._

I glance around the _fale_ , taking everyone in. Rayne is sitting at the edge of the _fale_ , with her legs tossed over the side and the rest of her sprawled over the floor. Abdul and Matt sit slumped against a support beam, fanning themselves with the empty manila folders they poached from Dads' briefcase. And Corinne is stewing angrily on her sleeping mat, arms folded and body bunched into a tense ball, glaring out across the hills and winding trails in the direction of the _fale fono_.

She's pissed because she wasn't invited to participate in the meeting, but, whoop-de-freakin'-do, _none of us were_.

Said meeting, hosted by Maluhia and her council, and featuring my father and Dominic, had finally been arranged, a good three days after our arrival from Maui's island. Details concerning the specifics of the meeting were deemed "highly confidential," but everyone, their mother, and that stupid, cross-eyed rooster I've seen roaming around the village as of late totally knows what's up: the meeting is about Te Fiti. Namely, her Heart.

Honestly. This goddess should be feeling hella special right about now. Since we got here, it's been nothing but _Te Fiti This, Te Fiti that_. She's captivated everyone's attention - and mine is no exception.

You know, 'cause I'm supposed to save her or whatever.

Which, can I be real for a second? How in the ever loving fuck am _I_ , a _mortal_ (and a fairly average one at that, not to toot my own horn), supposed to save a goddess from death? Better yet, how can a goddess even die?

She's _immortal_.

Last I checked, the word _immortal_ still means "exempt from death" in Webster's dictionary.

So...how?

How am I supposed to save Te Fiti?

_I may not know the answer to that question, but I can assure you that you won't be making any headway if you keep sitting here on your keister thinking about Maui._

With a heavy sigh, I push off the ground and rise to my feet. Instantly, my head swims. Little static flurries dance in my vision. The heat is too overpowering, and I have to place my hand on the nearest beam to keep from keeling over.

At my stirring, Rayne kicks up her legs and launches forward.

"McKenna Blaine Wolford, where do you—"

And, following the momentum of her movement, she goes flying face-first over the edge of the _fale_.

Startled by the display, and most likely under the influence of some heat-induced mania, Abdul throws back his head and bursts into a raucous fit of laughter. Matt rises to his knees, raising his chin to peer over the _fale_ edge to make sure Rayne is okay. Corinne, ignoring the ordeal entirely, blows a hard puff of air through her pursed lips, sweeping aside her bangs.

Rubbing a hand over my slick forehead, I ask, tone blasé, "Rayne. Are you okay?"

The top of her sandy-yellow head, peppered with blades of grass, rises slowly. Cheeks tinged a rosy pink, she shouts, "Stop laughing at me, you, you...you _big oaf_!"

Abdul stops laughing. His mouth is frozen in a wide, puzzled O.

Beside him, Matt tucks his chin into his chest and snorts. The action causes Abdul, the biggest and bulkiest person in our group, to flush.

"Oh. You think that's funny, huh?" He asks.

There's an underlying threat in his words, and it definitely doesn't escape Matt's radar. He lifts his head, smushing his hand against his lips to muffle the snorts. Fear glistens in his eyes.

"We-well...I mean, I mean, it's sort of...kind of...m-maybe not so funny after all..."

"Ah, Matty Boy! I'm just fuckin' with you, man." Abdul beams and flings an arm around Matt's neck, yanking him into his side. Matt - a stick-bug compared to Abdul - releases a garbled, "Hurmph," into Abdul's shoulder as his body is flailed to and fro, like a Raggedy Ann doll. (His mane of fiery red curls, beady eyes and pale skin help to add on to the coincidence factor.)

Rayne's eyes flit to the thatched ceiling in annoyance. She brushes the blades of grass out of her hair and pulls herself up onto the _fale_. Once she's up, she cocks a hip, crosses her arms and, directing her glare at me, asks, "Where do you think _you're_ going, missy?"

I blink, a bit thrown off by her question.

In truth, I hadn't given much thought to where I might go. I could head over to Ona's hut to be with Elaine, but I've spent every waking hour of every day with her thus far. (With the exception of the last three, when Rayne and the others ambushed me on my way back to the _fale_ and put me under house arrest... _fale_ arrest? Whatever.) And though I'd love nothing more than to be with my sister while she recovers, I know I can't hog her forever; _Richard_ has to be the one to take care of her sometimes.

He's her _husband_. That's _his_ job now, not mine. He relinquished me of it the day they said, "I do."

Plus, if I want to keep in his good graces, considering what I did to his drawings the other day - boy, was he pissed about that - then the smartest thing I can do is back off for a while.

I'd visit Maluhia, but as I stated before, she's occupied elsewhere. "Deciding the fate of our trip" and what-not.

My only other option would be to head down to the lagoon and visit The Ocean. Try to wheedle out some more answers about Te Fiti or Maui. But...no, I can't do that either. My skin is still red in some areas and peeling in others. The last thing I want topping the ever-growing pile of _Shit McKenna Doesn't Want to Deal With, but Has To_ is skin cancer. Or, God-forbid - _blisters_. _Anything_ but the blisters. ~~I'd prefer the cancer over the blisters at this point.~~

On a whim, I toss out, "Uhm...bathroom?"

"Oh?" Rayne tilts her head. "You need to go _potty_ , is that what you're saying?"

"...yes?" _Question mark?_

"So, what you're saying is, you need to have a nice, relaxing tinkle in the forest? _That's_ what you're saying?"

"Rayne, what in the hell are you going on about?"

"I know what you're up to, McKenna Blaine!" She balls up her fists and stomps her foot. Hard. "You're trying to sneak out again, just like you did the other day. Do you know how worried your father was when he woke up that morning and saw that _you weren't there_ because, let me tell you, I thought he was going to have a heart attack and _die_ \- his face got _so red_ , and—"

" _Rayne_." Corinne snaps. Her dark eyes, sharp enough to penetrate a persons' very soul, slide toward the girl in question. "Zip your fucking lips already."

"No can do, Cori," Rayne replies coolly.

Corinne starts, obviously shocked. As she should be: Rayne has never, ever, _not once_ talked back to her like that before. And most certainly not in such a casual tone. (Or with a nickname to boot.)

"Henri put _me_ in charge," Rayne continues, jabbing a thumb into her chest. "That means, McKenna - as well as the rest of you - are under _my_ strict supervision. No one goes anywhere without my say-so."

"Technically, Henri put _Corinne_ in charge..." Abdul quips.

Rayne purses her lips together in thought. "Mmm, no. I'm pretty sure he said me."

_Oh, for the love of..._

"Listen," I start, holding up my hand. The shrillness of her voice is starting to give me a headache. "I don't care _who_ my father put in charge, nor do I care that he told you guys to watch after me. Okay? That is not your job - _I_ am not your job. Your job is to dig around in the dirt." I peer over my shoulder at Abdul. "No offense."

"Some taken," he says.

"My point is, I'm responsible—" _-ish_. "—and I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself." I round my shoulders. "Besides, where the hell could I possibly sneak off to on this... _blasted island_?"

 _Curse you, Dominic,_ and _your dumb British slang._

Rayne taps her bottom lip with her finger. "Oh, I dunno - the _fale fono_ , perhaps?" She thrusts an accusatory finger into my face, centimeters from the tip of my nose. "You want to sneak off and eavesdrop on the meeting."

_...wow._

I'm amazed the thought never occurred to me.

"I hate to break it to you, McKenna, but you're going to have to wait to hear the consensus just like the rest of us."

I sigh. "Rayne. I need to pee. _Badly_."

"Oh. Really?" Rayne's confidence falters.

I nod.

"O-okay. Ugh...okay. Abdul!"

At the barking of his name, Abdul lifts his head.

"You're on bathroom duty."

He blinks. "I'm sorry, what?"

"I'm assigning you a job," she says. "You are to accompany McKenna into the forest and keep and eye on her while she tinkles—"

"Jesus - _I'm not a fucking dog_!"

"Yeah." Abdul stands. Wobbles unsteadily on his feet for a moment. "And there ain't no way in hell I'm doin' that."

Rayne juts her chin and sticks out her bottom lip. I can tell she's on the cusp of losing her nerve. Let's just hope that once it's gone, it freaking _stays_ gone.

"But...but _I'm_ in charge! So, you have to do what I say, or...or else..."

"'Or else'?" Abdul scoffs grimly. "Cute, kid. That's real cute." Once the heat-driven dizziness passes, Abdul paces forward, one mighty step at a time. Suddenly, the _fale_ seems too small for the likes of him. I stumble out of his path, giving him full access to Rayne, who is now quivering in fright. When he's within arms' distance of her, he stops and hunches his shoulders. "You ain't tough shit, Jacoby, so don't you threaten me - don't even _pretend_ \- because if you do, I _will not_ hesitate to _fuck you up_."

The temperature inside the _fale_ plummets. I shiver, and fold my arms to cover it up.

"A-Abdul, that's enough," Matt warns. He stands, too, and takes a step forward, reminding me of a newborn deer. All hobble and bobble, zero coordination.

Rayne, pale-faced and stiff as a plank, replies meekly, "But, _I_ can't go with her."

"Why not?" Abdul asks.

"Because...because it's embarrassing."

"Ah, so you wanna send the big, black man to do it, huh? 'Cause it ain't at all embarrassin' for him?"

"Abdul, Rayne, _please_." Matt steps in-between them, placing one hand on Rayne's shoulder and the other on Abdul's wide chest.

"Jeez, you guys are idiots," Corinne mumbles, dropping her face between her knees.

While all of this is happening, a strange buzzing sounds off behind my left ear. Like a mosquito, but five times louder and more robust. Curiously, I turn my head, only to come face-to-face with the Mother of All Beetles. I flinch back and swat it away, hoping that the gust from my hand will send it veering off in the other direction. It spirals in the air, readjusts its trajectory, and—

And lands right on my arm.

I watch, slightly awed (but mostly disgusted), as it crawls up the plain of my tricep. I'm not sure what type of beetle it is; it's one I've never seen before. It has a dusty orange base color, prominent on its face, abdomen and legs, and a metallic green sheen and markings that shimmer in the sunlight. It stops once it reaches the peak of my shoulder and just...watches me back. Stares up at me with eyes that are so brown, so familiar. Eyes that don't belong on an insect. Rather, they belong on a...

My eyes flick to the hook-shaped marking on its' thorax, and I gasp.

 _It...it_ can't _be._

An almost perceptible smile forms on the beetles' mouth. It raises one of its front legs, as if to wave—

I raise my other hand and smack it, as hard as I possibly can. It cries out, a pained, muffled, "Ow!"

"McKenna?"

I snap to attention, hand splayed over the writhing beetle. Rayne, Matt and Abdul are staring at me in confusion. I grin nervously.

"Ugh...sorry." I wrap my fingers around the beetle, enclosing it in my fist. "There was a...mosquito. A large one. Eh-he-he..."

The beetle stills. Bulges suddenly. Then, a moist, gummy sensation starts flailing against my fingers, tickling the heel of my palm. I suppress the urge to shriek and hide my fist behind my back. For added measure, I squeeze my fingers into the beetle-turned-gummy-creatures' belly, ending its' wriggling.

"Look, I-I promise I won't go far," I tell them, taking a cautious step backward toward the stairs. The three of them tense; they look ready to pounce at any moment. "I'll be right over there, in the thicket. I'll be quick. Promise."

Dubious glances are passed around, and I take that as my cue to skedaddle. I race down the steps of the _fale_ and sprint toward the thicket, throwing myself headlong into the throng of bushes and fronds and wildflowers. I sweep aside branches with my free hand, and once I'm a safe distance from the _fale_ , I open up my other hand and toss the creature to the ground.

There's a bright flash of blue light, and a resounding thunderclap, but I pay it very little mind.

Grabbing the hem of my tank-top, I grumble out a chain of mortified, "Ew, ew, ews," as I wipe my hand clean.

"Ah, fuck - _ow_! What the hell was that for?"

Though the sound of his voice jacks up my heart rate and fills me with oodles upon oodles of relief, I ignore Maui's question and hold my hand up to his face. "What is that? _What is that_?! Did you poison me? Is this poison?"

Maui rolls his eyes and pushes my hand away. "You know, I'm really starting to wish that it was right about now," he remarks. He cracks his neck and grunts. "Note to self: stay away from Frowny's deceivingly-soft hands. They'll crush you like a bug - _literally_."

"You still didn't answer my—"

Maui slaps a hand over my mouth and holds a finger to his lips. I furrow my brow, but after a few seconds of silence, I hear it. The crunching of foliage. The rustling of bush leaves. The sound of voices: Rayne's, anxious and loud; and Abdul's, angry and firm.

 _Crap_.

"Come on." Maui uncovers my mouth and grabs my hand. He tugs me after him, his pace quickening. I struggle to keep up.

"Where are we going?" I ask.

"You'll see. For now, just shut up and follow me."

~~~

Minutes later, Maui and I burst through a curtain of thick vines and come to a stop at the edge of what appears to be the beginning of another lagoon. It's a fragment of beach, dimly lit, separated from what I assume to be the rest of the lagoon by a massive moss-covered overhang arch. Sunlight bleeds through the brief, curved tunnel that the arch creates.

It's cool here. Breezy, even. I relish in the cold droplets of ocean water that ricochet off the cliff-side.

Maui, still holding my hand, steps back and parts the vines, checking to make sure that Rayne and the others aren't following us. I find it damn near impossible to believe that they would have been able to track us: as far as I'm concerned, Maui and I went 'round and 'round in circles. Never stopping.

_Always running._

_Mama no like-y the cardio._

I hunch forward, panting hard, unable to catch my breath. There's a stitch in my side, making it that much harder to breathe. Amidst the static flurries in my vision, there are now small, white spots.

"Maui," I wheeze.

"I think we lost'em." Maui grins at me victoriously. "What's the matter, Frowny? Having a hard time catching your breath?"

"Fuck...you..."

"Oh, come on. That was nothing! A Sunday morning stroll, barely even a jog. _I_ didn't even break a sweat." I glance down at our joined hands and lift them up. Beads of sweat dribble down the back of Maui's hand, collecting along his forearm and creating wet trails down his inked skin. He clicks his tongue. "Huh. Would ya look at that." He shrugs. "I blame the heat."

"Uh-huh." I straighten my back and manage, finally, to suck in a deep, satisfying breath. My vision clears, and after another much-needed inhalation, I open my mouth and say, "Maui."

"Yeah?"

I yank my hand free from his; it's an effortless task, made all the more possible by the slickness of our sweat. Maui's playful smile falls, and before he can say anything else, I lift my arm as high as I can and slap him across the face.

Last time, when I punched him, his face felt hard as a cement block. This time, it feels baby-bum smooth, and warm. The impact sends a shock racing down my arm, of course, but I shut off the pain and focus on the white-hot rage burning in my core.

"You stupid, no-good son of a bitch," I hiss. Maui doesn't move. Doesn't even turn his head to look at me. For some reason, him not looking at me infuriates me even more. "How _dare_ you act like everything's okay! You abandoned us - you abandoned _me_! Did you hear me, Maui? _You_ abandoned _me_!"

I shove both hands into his chest. He staggers back.

Either I've suddenly inherited the strength of Wonder Woman, or...or he isn't even putting up any resistance.

_Damn you._

I shove him again, harder. Grind my teeth. My cheeks are wet. The saltiness of the sweat on my tongue is amplified by that of my tears.

_Damn you, damn you, damn you._

"What, you think you can just...enter someone's life, save them, and then disappear?" _Shove_. "That's _not_ how that works!" _Shove_. "There has to be closure, or-or at least a proper goodbye." _Shove_. "But you can't just fucking leave."

I splay my hands on his chest to give another push, but the heat, and the running, and the force of shoving him fatigues my body. Weighs me down. Instead, I stumble into him. His arms come up, too quick, and capture me around the waist. In no time at all, I'm pressed flush against him, my forehead buried in the crease between his pecs. My hands, smushed between us, ball into fists.

"You're a selfish son of a bitch," I whimper.

He says, softly, "I know."

My throat closes, and I hiccup. I work one of my fists free and pound it, sluggishly, against his shoulder. A weak attempt at a struggle.

"You abandoned me."

" _I know_."

I sob. "You didn't even _fucking say goodbye_."

"I'm sorry." Maui's large arms squeeze me. He moves one hand up to cradle the base of my neck. A thought occurs to me then, that he could break me if he wanted to. Snap me in half. It would be so _easy_ , so effortless. "I am so, so sorry, Frowny."

I close my eyes and breathe out. My lips are so close to his skin. The heat of his body is uncomfortable, but I don't want him to let me go. Not yet.

"Promise me."

"What?"

Maui pulls back, dipping his head. Seeking, at last, to look at me. I shake my head and burrow deeper into his chest. I still don't want him to see me cry.

"Promise me," I say, "that you won't leave me ever again. Not without saying a proper goodbye."

For a long moment, he doesn't reply. The silent void where his answer should be is filled by the lapping of waves against the shore and against the rocks; the howling of the breeze through the tunnel; the cawing of the gulls as they drift lazily along in the currents. I'm beginning to think that he won't make me that promise when he presses his lips to the top of my scalp. In as quiet a voice as he can muster, he whispers, "I _promise_."

~~~

"Hey, Frowny. Did I mention that you look absolutely _ravishing_ today?"

"Oh...shut up, you big dummy."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed. 
> 
> See ya in the next one. (^.^)/


	18. Honest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ho. Ly. Fri. Joles. Batman. 
> 
> It feels like years since I've last updated this story. I hope you're all doing well! I, for one, am positively mortified with how this semester is going. I expected for it to be better than the last one, but I really need to learn to lower my expectations. Last semester brought me to my knees, and then let this semester tap in and start pummeling me. I'm exhausted. So, pardon me if my writing seems a little bit off or rusty. I'll get back into the groove of things eventually. 
> 
> But, enough about that. Here's a new chapter, and I won't keep you from it any longer. Just a minor thing before we begin, and I really don't wanna make a habit of this, but here's a good ol' TRIGGER WARNING:
> 
> This chapter includes themes of anxiety and panic attacks. If you're sensitive to things like this, then I highly suggest that you take this chapter with a grain of salt and skip it. It has some important stuff in it, sure, but the last thing I want to do is trigger someone. Anxiety is no picnic. 
> 
> Without further adieu, please enjoy this chapter. 
> 
> McKenna's Playlist >> Shuffle:
> 
> Swallow - Postcards From Mars  
> TV Shows - Leisure Club

As we stride through the tunnel, Maui cackling into his wrist and me massaging the heated blood out of my cheeks, the air whistling past us changes. Becomes icier. The potent stench of raw fish and decomposing seaweed clings to it, wafting into my nostrils. 

My stomach flips. 

"Erf." I plug my nose. "Gah, what in the hell?" 

"Oh. That. Yeah, I probably shoulda warned you..." Maui trails off, his nose scrunching up in contemplation. Snarling a hand through his hair, he stops walking and digs his wide, chubby feet into the sand. "Ah, Maluhia'll be furious with me when she finds out, but...well, I figure it's about time you knew."

"Knew what?" I ask. 

Maui heaves a monster sigh and steps around me, the width of his torso blocking my view of the lagoon. The sun slashes across his broad back, his shoulders, the crown of his head; a halo of frizzy, light brown fly-aways bounce off his mane of curls. He reaches out, grips me by the elbows and gives me a firm shake.

"Just - don't freak out. Okay?"

I tilt my head and arch my brow.

What the hell is he going in about?

He grins, almost apologetically, and grazes his fingers along the outside of my arms, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. Grabbing both if my hands in his, he takes slow, cautious steps backwards, leading me out of the tunnel and into the light of day. I squint my eyes, which are still hot and irritated from crying. The sun, as if to remind us of its' tyrannical rule, batters down on our shoulders, inducing a thin glaze of sweat on our brows in less than a minutes' time.

But the absolute worst thing right now - worse than the overbearing heat and Maui's jests at my near-nakedness - is the _smell_.

_Sweet. Mother. Of. God._

At least in the tunnel it was bearable. But here, out in the open? Coupled with the heat and the mugginess of salt evaporating from the sea? It's not possible to draw in a sufficient breath without gagging. 

The raw fish and decomposing seaweed smell increases threefold in intensity, and is now joined by the oh, so _pleasant_ aroma of Eau de rotting meat. 

To keep myself from upchucking all over Maui's stomach, I have to breathe in shallowly through my mouth and out through my nose. But even then, the stench manages to work its fiery little fingers into my sinuses and down the back of my throat, leaving me gasping. In no time at all, my eyes are watering uncontrollably. 

"Oh - _God_." I pull my hands free from Maui's and slap them over my mouth. I blink away the tears and look up at him, only to find that he doesn't seem the least bit put off by the smell. "How...are you - _huuugh_."

"You get used to it after a while," he says, swiping the side of his nose with his thumb. "I mean, it doesn't get any better, but it eventually stops burning. But that's not even the worst part."

 _Oh, jeez. What could possibly be worse than_ this _?_

At last, Maui steps aside, permitting me to see the rest of the lagoon. I use one hand to wipe the blur from my eyes and then take it all in. 

And the sight I'm graced with is...not at _all_ what I expected it to be.

In case you need a refresher, this is a lagoon on _Motunui_ we're talking about. _Motunui_ , people - the only place on planet Earth that, despite comprising only a miniscule portion of it, exudes infinite bounds of vibrancy and beauty. And sure, given all that I've witnessed thus far, you could say that my opinion is a bit biased; my expectations for how a typical lagoon on this island should look are abnormally high. 

For instance: walking through the tunnel, I expected to emerge in another variation of a tropical dreamscape - pearly whites sands, clean, transparent waters, lush vegetation. I expected pulsing green palms and banana trees, bearing bundles of ripe bananas. I expected coconut husks scattered along the front and flecks of coarse marram grass sprinkled about in the sand, prickling the soles of my feet as I walked. 

But _this_.. 

This _is_ worse than the smell. And I don't think a single person alive could've expected it. 

Instead of vibrancy and beauty, the atmosphere of this lagoon reeks of death and decay. The sands of the lagoon are a filthy, grimy gray, akin to a toxic sludge. Blue and pink balloons of dead jellyfish line the shorefront. Putrefied bird carcasses litter the entire strip, swarming with flies.

The water, cloudy brown and uninviting, rolls sluggishly over the sand. The scales of dead fish, bellied up in the water, glimmer in the sun.

Though most of the vegetation further up the strip remains unscathed, several of the palms' trunks have started to rot and wither away at the bases. These poor, afflicted trees recline submissively toward the ground, as if begging someone, _any_ one, to grant them a swiff and merciful death. 

And the culprit of all this destruction? The black, jagged tendrils crawling up the beach out of the water, running like ink through the sand. Draining the life and color from everything they touch. 

 _Like a parasite_ , I think.

My hands slip from my gaping mouth. I have no words - all I can do is stare. 

Maui sniffs. "Not very picturesque, is it?"

My throat is clogged due to the shock of it all. Unable to speak, I turn helplessly to Maui, waiting for him to start explaining. 

He meet my eye and asks, "By now I assume you've spoken with Maluhia?" 

I nod.

"Then you already know that Te Fiti is dying. All of this—" He waves his hand to the lagoon. "—is a side effect. And if Te Fiti dies, all of this dies with her. Every island, every continent - they'll all disappear into the sea."

I swallow past the lump in my throat and ask, in a shaky voice, "S-so, if that happens, everyone on Earth will...?"

Maui glances away and smiles grimly. "Best case scenario is that enough people are able to climb aboard the boats before they drown."

And that, folks, is all it takes to bring me crashing to my knees.

My black out must've lasted only a few seconds because when I come to, I'm hunched over on my knees in the sand and Maui is squatting beside me, a hand on my shoulder. He's talking, but I can't make out the words, only the fluctuations. My hands, quaking with fear, are balled up between my thighs.

Over and over again, the image assaults my mind: the entire world - our home in Wisconsin, the Museum - reduced to ashes. People dashing madly in the streets, unsure where to go or what to do. Mother's scurrying to get their children to safety. Lovers wrapping themselves in one last, passionate embrace. All whilst the ground disintegrates under their feet, and a feral tsunami rises above the horizon. Eager to swallow them whole.

Then I see my father, trapped under a piece of debris, struggling to breath the surface of the water; and I see Elaine and Richard, embracing one another in their bed as water seeps into the room through the cracks in their door; and I see _him_ and Cynthia, rolling joints and shot-gunning beers - having fun while the world crumbles outside the window. 

And I think to myself, **I'm _the one who's supposed to keep all of that from happening?_**

And suddenly I can feel The Oceans' icy grip wrapping itself around my small, quivering body. I can feel the water creeping up my nostrils and down my throat, trickling into my lungs, cold and suffocating and painful. 

And now I can't breathe, and my hands are numb, and I scratch my arms to see if I can regain any sensation but they're numb, too, so I scratch and I scratch but nothing happens, and fuck, when did it get to be so cold, and oh, God, my chest hurts, and I think I might be dying, and--

" _McKenna_."

Two unnaturally large hands reach out and cup my face, lifting my head. I come face-to-face with Maui, who looks calm and composed.

_Calm and composed._

As if the world wasn't ending. _As if death wasn't so imminently close._

"Listen to my voice, McKenna," he says. "You have to breathe."

_But...my chest hurts..._

I slap a hand against my sternum, fingers clawing the collar of my tank-top. Maui's face starts to warp and spin. Tears brim in my eyes.

Even if I wanted to breathe, I can't. It hurts too much. 

_Is this...am I..._

_Am I having a panic attack?_

"I know this is a lot - shit. I'm so sorry. I should've waited and let Maluhia work you up to this. You weren't ready, and I just...I'm sorry." Maui tilts my chin back with one hand and wraps the other around my shoulders. His palm presses into the space between my shoulder blades, and with one forceful push, he straightens my spine. "Look at me." 

I look at him. 

"Breathe with me. All right?"

 _But it_ hurts _, dammit..._

"I know it hurts, but you _have_ to breathe. Ready?" He searches my face for a moment before puffing his chest and sucking in a deep, filling breath.

I whimper.

He's doing all of this - going through all of this trouble - for me.

_Maui...you really are..._

"Come on, Frowny. You're turning blue. And I hate to break it to you, but it is _not_ an attractive color on you."

_An idiot._

Fighting through the pain in my chest, I suck in a breath and hold it, just as Maui demonstrates. After three seconds, he pushes the air out if his mouth, slow and controlled. I do the same. 

And it feels _so good_.

We go through the cycle a few more times - breathe in for three, hold for three, breathe out for three - until the tension in my chest is relieved and the feeling returns to my arms. When I glance down, there are bright pink welts running from my elbows to my wrists, where I tracked my nails against the skin.

The world. Collapsing into the sea.

And _I'm_ the one who's supposed to keep it from happening? 

_Yeah, right. Phat chance._

"Tell me you're joking."

The calmness of my voice is all wrong, considering that I just had a panic attack. I open my eyes. Maui is staring back at me, eyes popped and mouth agape. 

"Frowny," he says.

"Please." The corners of my mouth twitch, threatening to break out into a wide smile. I'm going to lose it. _I'm going to fucking lose it_. "Please, Maui. _Tell me_."

But he doesn't say a word. I cross my arms and wait. And I wait, and wait, and it never comes. The bark of laughter. The playful smack on the arm. The riotous, "It's just a prank, bro!"

None if it. 

Instead, what I get are his fingers combing through my hair, and his small, breathy, "Frowny."

My lips purse together in a disapproving scowl. I grab his arm to stop his combing and stand. My knees knock together and my feet are tingling severely, but I straighten myself as best as I can and roll back my shoulders. Brows furrowed, fists clenched, I shout:

"This is _BULLSHIT_!"

 Maui flinches and claps his hands over his ears. 

"Given everything you've just said to me, do you _really_ expect me to save the world now?" I ask.

"Uhm..." Maui slowly drops his hands. "Yes?"

I place my hands on my hips. "You _honestly_ believe that I, a _mortal_ and a _nobody_ , can save a goddesses' life? You _really_ think that I can save the entire world from disappearing into the sea?" A shriek of laughter bubbles out of me, sudden and unexpected. I must sound demented. "God! You must be pretty fucking stupid to believe that I can do anything like that." 

Maui clucks his tongue. "Are you done? Or do you have a few more self-deprecating statements to get off your chest?"

I throw up my hands. "Why am I not surprised?! You're not even taking this seriously!"

"Of course I am." Maui stands and wipes the sand off his knees. "What, you think you're the only one who's been tasked with saving the world? I've got plenty on my plate to deal with as well, you know. I can't just sit on my ass and twiddle my thumbs while the world goes to shit all around me. I've got just as big a role in saving Te Fiti as you do."

"B-but..." I fumble, suddenly at a loss for words. "Maluhia said---"

"That you're the only one who can save Te Fiti?" He snorts. "I figured as much. She and I need to have a little chat later." 

All I can do is stare dazedly at Maui, unsure how to respond. He cranks his head to the side and rubs his neck.

"Something you should know about Maluhia is that she puts _waaaaay_ too much faith in other people. _Especially_ in situations of high stress. Oh, don't get me wrong." As if sensing the possible misunderstanding in his words, he holds up a defensive hand. "I have faith in you, too, Frowny. But I'm not about to entrust the fate of Te Fiti and the rest of the world to some kid. No offense." 

I'm not even the _least_ bit offended. If anything, I'm relieved. My body droops, the burden lifted, and my joints turn warm and liquid-y. I crash to my knees in the sand once more, releasing a loud, heavy-hearted sigh.

"Thank goodness," I whisper.

Even though saving the world is still a ludicrous idea, somehow the thought of Maui being there to help comforts me. Makes me feel a bit more confident. Because if there's anyone more capable to save the world, it's him.

But...wait, no.

There's something about this whole situation that I find confusing. 

"Maui?"

"Yes?"

"You said before that it wasn't your place to say anything," I say, "and that someone else is meant to ' _protect me_.' Yet here you are, showing me this lagoon when you shouldn't be. Telling me that the world is going to disappear into the sea if I - if _we_ \- don't save Te Fiti."

"What's your point?"

"I guess I just don't understand...why couldn't _you_ tell me all of this before?"

Maui drags his hand over his jaw, his mouth quirking to the side as a childish mirth lights in his eyes. He rocks back on his heels and raises a shoulder.

"Technically speaking, I could've told you everything the instant I met you," he says.

...wait.

What?

The vein in my temple throbs. For a second, I consider crossing the space between us and ringing his fucking neck. It takes a hell of a lot of will power to keep myself from actually doing it.

This whole time, he could have told me the truth. He could've spilled the beans the day we met on his island and said, "Hey, hot stuff. I know you're partially conscious and on the brink of death, but I'm a Demi-god. I can turn into animals with the help of my magic fish hook. You're here to save the world. Te Fiti is real, and if you don't help me save her, we're all gonna die. Wanna make out?"

So, okay.

Maybe he wouldn't have chosen those _exact_ words to say, but something along those lines.

I grind my teeth together and ask, " _So why didn't you_?"

"Because, baby, I wanted to make you _squirm_."

_And then he winks!_

I balk. A zap of electricity races from the base of my neck down to my tailbone. My skin flushes. I scoop two handfuls of sand, shoot to my feet and fling them at Maui. Snorting gleefully, he holds up his hands and shields his face. While he's distracted, I whirl around and stomp toward the tunnel.

The _nerve_ of this guy!

Just when I begin to think he might actually be a decent fellow, he goes and admits shit like that. 

 _And at the absolute worst possible time_.

 "Wait, wait, hold up!" Maui leaps in front of me, eyes red and puffy, but still flashing that infuriating, 10,000-gigawatt smile. "I'm sorry, I was only trying to cheer you up. Things got pretty heavy there for a while and I wanted to make sure you were okay."

I avert my gaze and grumble in reply.

He sighs. "Look. It's true, I could've told you everything from the start. But would you have believed me if I did?"

I open my mouth.

" _Be honest_."

My retort dies in the back of my throat. With an indignant huff, I jut my chin and glare at one of the tattoos on Maui's chest: a miniature version of himself, standing on what appears to be a small island. The tattoo-Maui is holding up a strip of black that contains tiny white wind symbols, most likely to signify the sky.

Though I'd much rather feign ignorance and say that I would've believed him if he told me, I know it's not true. Hell, I didn't even believe he was _the_ Maui until he showed me his power. What chance would he have stood telling me out of the blue that I was "The Chosen One"?

Hint: he wouldn't have.

_Tch._

"Yeah. That's what I thought." Maui stoops down to meet my eye. "Letting Maluhia tell you was the right thing for me to do because you trusted her more. If I'd said something to you, it would've jeoperdized whatever chance we had of getting you to help us. And you know it."

_Yeah, yeah. I got it._

I sigh. "So. What happens now?"

"For now, you go back to your people and act like nothing's changed. The meeting should be coming to a close soon, anyway. You're going to want to be there to hear the final decision."

My stomach sinks. The last thing I want to do is go back to the _fale_ where Rayne and Abdul are no doubt waiting with bated breath to chew me out the minute I step through the thicket. I'd much rather stay here, on this piece of crap lagoon that my denial is starting to convince me belongs to another island. (And Maui was right, the burn from the smell _did_ stop.)

"Does this mean you're in?"

I start. "Hm?"

"You're going to help us save Te Fiti?" He balls up his fists like a child unable to contain his excitement. "Come on. Say you're in."

Despite my kindling anger at him, I can't help but find his antics endearing. No matter what he says or what he does, it's impossible for me to stay mad at him for long. He's brazen and obnoxious, sure, but his heart is always in the right place. And I know he isn't intentionally trying to piss me off.

Still...

"Seriously, Maui," I begin, in as innocent a tone as I can muster. He grins, showing off perfect, snow white teeth. I lean forward and poke a finger into one of his dimples. "You are such an idiot." 

I lift my foot and kick his shin. His eyebrows pinch together, lips puckering in pain. He draws up his knee to his chest and starts bouncing up and down on his other foot.

"Ow, ow, ow - what is _wrong_ with you today?! This is abuse!"

"You were starting to annoy me," I retort.

"That isn't a good enough reason to go around abusing people, though!" He whines. "I swear, one of these days, I am going to smote you...smite you? Whatever, the point is, I'm going to get you back for this!"

Maybe it's the girly shrill of his voice. Maybe it's the fact that he doesn't know the proper tense of the word "smite." Or maybe it's the cartoonish, over-dramatic bouncing on his foot. Whichever one it turns out to be, it tickles me such a radiant shade if pink. 

I start snickering hopelessly. I cover my mouth with the back if my hand to try and stop the giggles from pouring out, but it's a vain attempt because Maui already caught me.

He stops hopping and smiles.

"Glad to see you're enjoying my suffering, you sadist."

I force my lips into a proud beam, but just as quickly, my mind wanders, and they pull down into a worried frown. Maui lowers his leg and tilts his head in confusion. 

"Frowny?" 

"Hey." I bore holes into his shoulder, not quite brave enough to look him in the eye as I speak. I rub the inside of my elbow nervously. "Do you really think I can do this?"

"I do."

" _Be honest_." I raise my head.

Maui and I stare at each other, sizing each other up for a good, long moment. Then, he steps forward.

"All right. You know what I think?"

I suck in a breath.

He raises his hand and plops it down on the crown of my head, ruffling my hair. "I think, if we work together - you and me?" He gestures between us with his thumb. "We can do _anything_."

A genuine smile tugs the corners of my lips upward. He ruffles my hair one last time and chucks my chin. I reach up and fix the mussed hairs of my bangs before pivoting my feet in the direction of The Ocean. I'm barely a step forward when it appears, a piteous nub of cloudy brown gunk, dead fish and sea urchins.

The difference in appearance from when I first saw it strikes a chord inside me, and I stagger to a stop in front of it. At that time, The Ocean had looked so lively and warm; when it touched my palm, it flooded me with love and affection.

But now...now, I'm just angry.

Angry at the ass-hat that was Dominic's grandfather. If it weren't for him, none of this would be happening right now. Te Fiti wouldn't be in mortal danger. The Ocean would be clean, if not elsewhere on the planet, then right here, where it deserves at least a semblance of purity. And we - my people, Maluhia, Maui - wouldn't be here. _I_ wouldn't be here.

I flex my fingers and roll my shoulders.

"Ocean," I begin. It perks up, but only a tiny bit. "I'm gonna be straight with you, okay? I'm a nobody. There are plenty of other people that are more than qualified to take on a job this monumental - others who are braver than me, stronger than me. With them, you guys would have a much better chance. But since it's me, I can't guarantee that we'll succeed."

The Ocean ripples at my words. A shadow falls over my left shoulder, and though I'm entirely focused on The Ocean, I can't help but acknowledge the warmth that Maui's body permeates.

"Knowing this," I continue, holding up my hand, "do you still want my help?" I glance back at Maui, too, to let him know that I want his opinion on the matter as well.

His eyes crinkle in delight, and his lips pull up on both sides into a tender smile. He nods.

I turn back to The Ocean, my palm uplifted.

I may not be strong. I may not be brave. I may not be able to save Te Fiti. I'm better off calling it quits, right here and now, and getting on with my life - however long it may be. But this is my one opportunity to contribute something to this world. Something good. And even if I fail, I can at least be proud of myself for trying. For not giving up for once. For not taking "the easy way out". (Never mind the fact that billions of innocent people will die, but hey, for sentimentality's sake, let's not think about that.)

If it were my mother in this position, she would have leaped at the opportunity. Zero hesitation. That's just how she was, brave and centered and ruthless. She'd be disappointed in me if I just walked away.

So, I won't.

I'm scared and I'm uncertain, but I'm not alone. I have Maui. I have The Ocean. I have Maluhia and her people.

And I'm beginning to see that that's more than enough for me.

I extend my hand a bit further and wiggle my fingers. The Ocean, practically vibrating with joy, touches the ends of its' nubby head to my palm. I refuse the urge to cringe and rip my hand away as a half-eaten fish carcass grazes my index finger.

"Okay." I nod my head. "Okay. I'll do it - I'll do whatever I can to help you guys save Te Fiti. You have my word."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all had a great Spring Break!!


	19. Consensus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo, beautiful people!! I'm back with another chapter after what feels like a too-long, unexpected hiatus. (Sorry.) Personally, I blame finals, and stress, and the fact that my stress kinda made me sick, but hey, it's cool. It's summer, I've got my hat on backwards, and it's time to f*cking party. (Sorry. (Again.))
> 
> I've made this chapter a bit longer than normal, to compensate for the whole "not publishing for a month and a half" thing. I hope you guys can forgive me!
> 
> It's already been a year since I published this story on Archive. Isn't that crazy? It is to me, anyway. I just want to thank all of you for reading this story, it means everything to me. Two years ago, I never would've seen myself publishing my garbage fan-fictions...ANYWHERE. They were just this guilty little side hobby that I indulged in - I never thought I would actually get anywhere with them. But here we are, one year later, and this story has so many people reading...more than I could have imagined, at least. But it's more than enough.
> 
> You're all magnificent. 
> 
> And I hope you continue to stick with me the further along we get, because there's still quite a ways to go.
> 
> Anyway, enough of the sappy talk. Until next time~. 
> 
> -slice
> 
> McKenna's Playlist >> Shuffle:
> 
> Ultraviolet - Amarante  
> Demons - Jacob Lee

"You're shipping me off to my death here. You know that, right?"

Dropping my voice to a barely-there whisper, I lean sideways and peer around the trunk of the tree. As I'd suspected they might be, Rayne and Abdul are waiting for me, swarming about the guest _fale_ like two irate wasps.

Abdul paces the perimeter of the thicket, head swiveling slowly from side to side - like a robot, minus the whirring and clicking - while Rayne takes to whirl-winding inside the _fale_. Her fingers are snarled deep in the roots of her hair, and her eyes keep jumping anxiously from the thicket to the road leading into the village.

After all, it _has_ been just shy of two hours since I disappeared; Dad and Dominic could be headed our way at any time.

Even from this distance, I can feel the anger and stress roiling off of their sweat-slicked bodies. And though their interactions are minimal - an occasional shake of the head, a brief murmured report - tension crackles like firecrackers in the air every time their eyes meet. I'm not sure what transpired between them after I left, but I'm going to assume that whatever it was probably wasn't very pleasant.

I pull back and slump against the tree, groaning in displeasure.

Ugh.

This _sucks_.

If it was just Rayne who was mad at me, then I could deal with it. Because - and let's just be perfectly honest here - when she's angry, she's no scarier than a growling hamster. She wouldn't be able to inflict damage on me, verbally or physically; if anything, I'd be able to shut her down with a few quick-witted jives at her wardrobe choices and undying love for unicorns.

I can't say the same for Abdul.

Unlike Rayne, Abdul has a little thing called a "backbone," and he sure as shit isn't afraid to whoop anyone's ass. Man, woman, whatever you choose to identify as - doesn't make a damn bit of difference to him: he'll plant you as quick as look at you. His fight with Corinne on Maui's island is plenty indication of that. (Her bruises still have bruises, and it's already been three days.)

With him in Rayne's corner, equally pissed and a thousand times more menacing, well - I don't stand a chance.

There's a high probability that this could become the story of how I _died_. _Not_ the story of how I miraculously saved the world and Te Fiti from peril.

Maui, seated in a deep squat to my right, cranes his neck over the top of the bushes to get a better view of the duo. His lips quirk into a sardonic grin.

"Yeah, I won't lie to you, Frowny. This might be the last time I see you alive."

_Thanks for the encouragement, bro._

"Are you sure these are the same guys that washed up on my island with you?" He asks. "They look...demonic."

"I think the term you're looking for is 'blood-thirsty'."

"I wonder if they've—" Maui sticks two fingers in his mouth and pulls back the corners, revealing his sharp canines, "—gwown fhangsh."

I wave my hand. "By all means, go have a look."

"Umm, pass. That big guy - Abdul, was it? - yeah, he might _actually_ rip my face off. And I can't allow that to happen; I have a reputation to uphold."

"Reputation? What, as the world's biggest dick?"

"No, as the world's _handsomest_ dick. You were close, though, very close."

Despite the anxiety threatening to creep up my throat and repossess me, I chuckle. Placing a hand on the tree, I stand, moving slowly as to avoid jostling any nearby bushes. If a twig starts to give under my foot, I dig my spine into the bark and reposition myself.

Yes, I'm aware this isn't some horror movie, and that Rayne and Abdul won't suddenly develop some sort of supernatural hearing. But that doesn't stop my paranoia from convincing me that if I so much as breathe, let alone twitch my left pinky toe, they'll hear it and come flying through the thicket like a pair of discount axe murderers.

"Ugh. I wish I had a chicken."

"... _pfft_."

Maui ducks his head and covers his mouth with his fist, muffling his laughter. He stares up at me, eyes popped in equal parts confusion and intrigue.

"A...a _chicken_?" He asks behind his fist. "What the hell do you need a _chicken_ for?"

"Because Abdul is, like, deathly afraid of chickens. _So_ , if I had one, I could use it as leverage to keep him from killing me."

" _Pfft_."

Maui claps both hands over his mouth, his shoulders convulsing with each restrained bout of laughter. I roll my eyes at his dramatics, but the more I think about it - me, whipping out a chicken from behind my back, and big, muscly Abdul, tearing across the field screaming like a little girl - the funnier it becomes. I permit myself a momentary lapse in reality to giggle alongside him.

When the wave subsides, we're left staring at each other, cheeks rosy and navels warm.

Then the light-bulbs flicker.

"You don't think..." He starts.

I ball my fists, suddenly giddy. "Hey, do you think you could...?"

Maui nods his head vigorously and smiles, but after a brief pause he deflates. "But I can't," he says. "I left my hook back at the lagoon."

We both expel a heavy-hearted sigh.

"Okay. But next time I'm in a bind with Abdul—"

"Say no more, Frowny. You can count on me." Maui gives me an enthusiastic thumbs-up, before crossing his eyes and crooning out a loud, realistic-sounding, " _Buh-kaw_!"

A high-pitched shriek resounds through the thicket, and Maui and I are quick to turn in the direction of the source. What we find sends us into another riotous-yet-somehow-contained fit of laughter: Abdul, shirking away nervously from the thicket. Fingers twitching. Eyes bugging out of his skull as he glances to and fro. No doubt in search of the "chicken."

Rayne leaps down from the _fale_ , eyebrows knitted in panic. But her expression drops into a straight deadpan when Abdul starts babbling, the word "chicken" tumbling from his lips.

"Oh, God in Heaven," I whimper, driving the heels of my palms into my eyes to staunch the tears. My breath releases in shallow, winded spurts. Half-laugh, half-wheeze. "That was fucking beautiful."

Maui doesn't respond with anything other than a grunt of agreement. He plops down in the dirt and leans back against the base of the tree. It could be the lighting but his eyes, I notice, are beginning to look a little hazy. The shimmer of gold in his irises dims. Even his smile, genuine only a few seconds prior, seems a bit forced. There's a stark paleness seeping into his cheeks, and the skin under his eyes looks a lot darker now than it did earlier.

He sighs again.

And then he yawns, tears straining out of the corners of his eyes.

I say, "When was the last time you slept?"

"Hm?" Maui jolts, spine straightening. He blinks away the haze and raises his head, glancing up at me in surprise. I can't tell if it's surprise that I'm still here, or surprise that he let himself be so vulnerable in my presence. Either way, it's adorable. "Oh, sorry. What did you say?"

I shake my head. "Nothing. I was just wondering what time you wanted to meet at the lagoon tomorrow."

"Right, right." Maui wipes his eyes and stands. He clears his throat. "Do you have a watch?"

"As a matter of fact..." I slip a hand into my back pocket and bring out my fathers' wrist watch. I'd forgotten to sneak it back into his bag the day I met with Maluhia at Tala's Rock. Fortunately, he hasn't asked me about it yet. (Then again, we haven't spoken a word to each other since I returned to Motunui and we had our verbal scuffle.) "I do."

"Can you set alarms on it?"

"Ugh..."

 _I didn't even know you could_ do _that._

Maui snickers and holds up his hand. I set the watch on his palm, shivering at the slight brush of our fingertips. If he notices, he doesn't say anything. He studies the watch a moment, flips it once in his hands, and then hums.

"A Blancpain villeret, stainless steel...these things are hard to come by! Expensive as hell, too." He smirks. Wiggles his eyebrows. "Looks like I've nabbed myself a rich girl."

"If you ask me for a loan, I'll bash your teeth in with a baseball bat."

"It's always violence with you, isn't it?" He sighs, tinkering with the buttons on the side of the watch. "It's a good thing you're hot."

I tilt my head. "What was that?"

"Oh, don't act like you didn't hear me, princess. Your cheeks are beaming."

I raise my hands to my face. Sure enough, the blood is singing sweet hallelujah under my skin.

"Th-that's because they're... _sunburned_."

"Uh-huh, sure."

Maui clicks one of the buttons and a shrill beep sounds. I clench my teeth and hiss in warning, head whipping around toward the _fale_. Not like it matters, though: Rayne and Abdul _definitely_ heard that. The two of them halt where they are and pivot simultaneously, their lips moving as they murmur amongst themselves. There's a lethal glint in their eyes, one that wasn't there before.

I am _so_ dead.

"Shit. Maui, I gotta go."

I reach out and grab the watch, but Maui folds his hand over mine and yanks me forward. I swallow my yelp of surprise and brace my hand on his chest, to keep my momentum from pulling me flush against him. He chuckles at my reaction, the vibrations thrumming from his body into mine. Holding up my arm, he slides the watch out of my hand and clasps it carefully around my wrist.

I pretend not to notice the lingering of his touch on the inside of my forearm, or the way his gaze roams languidly down the length of my arm to my face. He pulls me closer, until our faces are centimeters apart and we're breathing the same air.

"I hope you survive," he whispers, hot breath fanning my lips. My brain short-circuits, leaving me dazed. "I'd very much like to see you tomorrow."

"Maui..." I flex my fingers against his chest. The tip of my index finger lies just beneath the tattoo of his miniature self, holding up the sky with a proud grin on his face. His skin burns under my touch; I can feel his heart beating, quicker than normal. I lick my lips. "Tomorrow, will you tell me about your tattoos?"

"My tattoos? Why?"

"Your tattoos...they move, don't they?" I trace a light finger over the miniature Maui. Maui's pectoral muscle contracts. "I want you to tell me about them."

 _I want you to tell me about_ you.

Maui smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners. Dipping his head, he brushes the hair back from my shoulder and whispers into my ear, "Don't be late."

I open my mouth to reply when both of his hands fall upon my waist. He pulls back, just enough for me to catch the mischievous smirk on his face.

"Oh," he says, "and don't hate me for this."

"Wha—?"

In an instant, I'm uprooted from the thicket, my body stiff with shock as I vault ass-over-teakettle over the bushes and come crashing face-first to the ground. Maui's maniacal cackle starts off loud and barbaric, and eventually teeters off the further into the forest he gets. It takes me less than a second to gather my bearings - spit the grass blades and dirt out of my mouth - and come to a realization:

Maui just fucking _threw_ me out of the thicket.

And not only that...

"McKenna Blaine Wolford!"

_He threw me out right in front of Rayne and Abdul._

_That...traitorous bastard._

I rise up to my knees, a bit mystified that I wasn't hurt by that - at least, not physically; my pride is a tad sore, though - and carry my gaze up to their faces. They're both glaring down at me, eyes brimming with fury and faces shadowed. The cold trickle of fear races down my spine.

"H-hey, guys!" I say, forcing myself to sound overly-chipper. "Listen, I know you're both probably pissed, but if you just give me, like, five minutes, I can explain—"

"Shut up," Abdul growls.

"Yeah, okay, shutting up, that's a good idea."

Together, they reach down and pull me to my feet. They cage me in on both sides, grips firm on my elbows, hoisting me up to where the tips of my toes barely graze the ground.

Which, okay - this is a _bit_ excessive.

"You've got some nerve running off like that," Rayne begins as they carry me back to the _fale_. Her words are strained; I can feel her arms shaking as she holds me up. "Just you _wait_ until Mr. Wolford gets back and hears about your little stunt. You deserve whatever punishment is coming to you."

Heat flares up my collarbones and into my face. My body coils in preparation to fight. Unleash my inner bucking Bronco and just go ham.

I mean, who do these guys think they are? My _keeper_?

But I surprise myself - and them - by clenching my fists and pushing the rage down. I go limp in their arms. The anger festers in the depths of my belly, a sharp, powerful ache. I breathe through my nose and out through my mouth, refocusing my thoughts elsewhere. Somewhere logical.

Acting out now would be irrational and downright stupid. I _know_ that.

I _could_ fight against them - the McKenna of last week probably would have - but really, what good would that do me? They're beyond pissed, and their trust in me has no doubt plummeted into the negative. My father gave them a simple job - a horrible job, but a job nevertheless - and that was to watch after me in his absence. And because of the stunt I pulled today, the reality is that _Rayne and Abdul_ are going to catch the brunt end of my fathers' wrath, not me.

I don't have to agree with the whole "Let's hop aboard the 'Baby-sit McKenna' bandwagon" thing. (You might agree that my running away is a telltale sign that I _strongly dislike_ the idea.) But sooner or later, I'm going to have to learn to respect my father's wishes. Even if it means - and I shudder as I say this - complying to the things he asks me to do _without fighting back_.

_No better time to learn than the present, I guess._

I keep my mouth shut air-tight and my body still, and let them carry me up the steps and into the _fale_. Matt is resting against a support beam, chewing anxiously on his cuticles, one shoulder bouncing up and down with each tic. He starts at the scuffing of Abdul's sneakers, his expression twisting into one of relief when he sees me.

Corinne is laying on her mat, her back to us, facing the road. Her only acknowledgment of us is a gravelly, "Welcome back."

Rayne and Abdul walk me to my mat and set me down. Abdul gestures for me to sit, and I do.

"Now, then," he says, crouching down. "You wanna tell us where the hell you ran off to?"

"Nowhere."

"Don't lie to us, McKenna. You were gone for two hours."

I shrug a shoulder. "I thought I had to pee, but it turns out I also had to take a monster shit." I lean sideways to peer around Abdul, directing my words at Matt. "You've been giving Akoni 'cooking tips' again, haven't you? I swear, Matt, your cooking is gonna be the death of me one of these days."

Abdul snatches my chin - why are people being so handsy with me lately? - and brings my attention back to him. The pads of his fingers press deep into my jowls.

"This isn't a game, McKenna," he spits.

"You were with somebody, weren't you?" Rayne presses, thrusting a finger into my temple.

I smack her arm away and fire back, a bit too defensively, "No, I wasn't."

"Who did you meet?"

"I didn't mee—"

"Where did you go, McKenna?"

"I—"

"Why did you run?"

"Would you just—"

"What did you—"

"Guys!"

Corinne scrambles to her feet, the ebony hairs on the right side of her head teased from where she lay on the mat. She points a finger toward the road.

"They're back."

Abdul's eyelids flutter in annoyance. He releases my chin and mutters coldly, "We'll talk about this later."

"Yeah," I say, rubbing my cheek. Meeting his challenging glower with one of my own. "We will."

 _Not_.

Rayne skips across the _fale_ and joins Corinne at the top of the stairs, watching Dad and Dominic as they trudge down the road. Dominic is walking a few paces ahead of Dad, fists clenched and jaw muscles rippling. His pupils are pin-pricks, a size I would never have thought to be humanly possible.

It doesn't take the IQ of a guppy to know that he's livid. But then again, I always thought Rayne was pretty stupid.

The second his foot touches the bottom step, she leaps up and bunches her fists together, bombarding him with questions, "Dominic! How did the meeting go? Did they agree? Are we going to Te Fiti? Are we going to sail again? Ah! Are we finally going to...find the...?"

She trails off as Dominic reaches the second-to-last step, putting him nose to nose with her. He fixes her with his darkest scowl. There's turbulence in his eyes again, stronger than it was when we squared off against each other. Billowing with the promise of an impending storm.

Rayne sinks back with a whimper, and with her out of the way, Dominic heads straight for the opposite side of the _fale_ , as far away from us as possible. He leans a shoulder against a beam and crosses his ankles, closing himself off from the rest of us completely.

Dad drags himself up the steps a moment later, his shoulders slumped in exhaustion. Rayne croaks out another question, this time directed at him, to which the only response is a slow shake of his head.

The silence drags on, awkward and suffocating. My eyes flicker back and forth from Dad to Dominic, but I can't read either of their expressions.

Finally, Corinne speaks up.

"So?" She asks. "What's the verdict, boss?"

Dad sighs, expelling all of his vexation with just the one breath. "Maluhia and her people fear that the waters surrounding Te Fiti might be too dangerous to traverse. If we were to go, the casualties could be...severe."

"W-wait...so, does this mean...we _aren't_ going?" Rayne asks. The weight of her words sets in, and she drops to the floor, tears bubbling over.

Abdul pinches the bridge of his nose and curses. "We came all this way for nothin'..."

"Not necessarily." Dad puffs his chest and steps forward, centering himself between us. "After a long and much-heated debate, Maluhia has agreed to round up her best men and women - those who have sailed Te Fiti's waters and have experience. If she's able to enlist enough people, we might have a chance."

Dominic scoffs, drawing everyone's eye to him. He wipes a hand over his mouth in an effort to do away with his bitter smile.

"Go on, Henri," he says. "Tell them the truth."

"The truth?" Corinne sets her hands on her hips. "Mr. Wolford, what is going on?"

Dad removes his glasses and rubs the lenses clean with the hem of his shirt. He rubs and rubs and rubes, keeping his gaze cast down the bridge of his nose - this, a compulsive habit he succumbs to in times of panic.

"Dad?"

He jerks his head at the sound of my voice, coming back to himself. He offers me a shy grin and nods. Puts his glasses back on.

"There's a good chance," he says, "that a lot of Maluhia's people won't agree to sail to Te Fiti again. Those who sailed in the past have grown and lost their reckless and ambitious natures. They have families to look after and protect now. If that's the case, we will have to make a decision: who gets to go, and who must stay here on Motunui."

" _What_?"

"That's...that's...!"

"Mr. W, man, you can't be serious!"

Voices doused in shock and displeasure intermingle. Amongst them, Dad's voice struggles to be heard, pleading for the others to calm down. Please, let him finish. But the inflammation grows worse, until Abdul is yelling, and Rayne is bawling, and Dominic is chuckling like a madman.

My chest tightens. I wrap my arms around my knees and stare down at my watch. The minute hand ticks past the four.

_Maui...we may have a problem._

"G-guys! That's e-enough!"

Matthias throws himself into the chaos, ticking uncontrollably yet somehow able to raise his voice to an octave that's laid dormant inside him for years. Abdul, seething mad and hissing through his teeth, stomps away and joins Dominic at the other end of the _fale_.

"Maybe we sh-should listen to what M-Mr. Wolford has to say," Matt says.

"Thank you, Matt." Dad pats said boy on the shoulder, smiling gratefully. Everyone quiets. (Except Rayne. ( _Fucking baby_.)) "Now, I know this information comes as a great disappointment to everyone. It isn't the ideal, but it's the best I could do with the time I had. That's why I've already decided who I would like to stay behind." He pivots, singling them out with his eyes as he speaks their names, respectively, "Dominic, Corinne and Matthias."

Corinne's eyes widen a fraction before narrowing, her expression falling into neutral territory.

Dominic grinds his teeth, his jaw working. His response to this news isn't as outlandish as I'd expected it would be, which makes me wonder if perhaps he already knew, and that that's why he was so angry and stand-offish before.

"I'm sorry, but I must ask that you three remain here on Motunui," Dad continues. "Elaines' condition is improving, but anything could happen at any time. And no offense, Dominic, but I don't trust your son to look after her. Not in the state he's in."

Dominic shrugs a shoulder, not offended in the slightest - at least, not with the statement about his son.

Corinne steps toward Dad and places a hand - a _trembling_ hand - on his shoulder. "Don't worry, Mr. Wolford. We'll watch after them."

"Rayne, Abdul—" Dad points to the two technicians. "—you two will be coming with me."

Abdul straightens, his lips stretching into a slow smile. "Y-yes, sir!"

Rayne salutes. "You can count on us, Mr. Wolford, sir!"

I regard the beaming smiles and disheartened sighs, slightly put off by the fact that the only person who hasn't been consulted yet it me. I understand that I'm not nearly as important as Rayne or Abdul when it comes to all this archaeology business; and though I am, in fact, playing an important role in all of this according to Maluhia and Maui, I also know that unless I confess my mission to my father and somehow persuade him into believing it, my chances of getting to Te Fiti are next to none.

Still, I have to ask.

"Uhm..." I clear my throat. "What about me?"

The others exchange worried glances before setting their eyes on Dad. Dad, cheeks paling, ambles toward me and kneels. He reaches out slowly, as if I were a bird, easily startled, and cups my cheek.

"I'm sorry, McKenna," he says, and even though I knew this might be the answer, it still feels like a blow. "But it's too dangerous. You're staying here."

"But—"

"It's non-negotiable. I brought you here to keep an eye on you, to make sure you weren't going to be a danger to yourself or to others." He smiles warmly. "You've done so well - I'm proud of you, sweetheart. But I _will not_ actively seek out ways to put your life in danger. I've almost lost you _twice_ now, McKenna. I won't risk losing you _ever again_."

My promise to The Ocean returns to my mind. I hold up my hand, recalling the warmth that had rushed through me just knowing that The Ocean trusted me with such a monumental task.

And Maui...

No. I can't let them down like this.

I _won't_.

"Daddy, please—"

"This conversation is over," he snaps. "You're staying here - and that is _final_."

~~~

Clutching my father's watch, I stride down the dirt path, illuminated solely by the somber orange glow of the lit torches.

Night descended upon Motunui nearly three hours ago, chilling the air and dampening the plants, drawing out the redolent aromas of honeysuckle and hibiscus. In contrast to the hellish weather we'd suffered earlier today, _this_ chill and _that_ breeze are a God-send; the villagers have opened up their houses to the cold - not a single _kapa_ cloth is drawn. The atmosphere of the place is tranquil. Quiet.

But as peaceful as it may be, I just can't seem to settle down. My thoughts, tumultuous and profane, spiral out of control, barring me from getting any rest.

I don't want to be around people; I _cannot_ spend one more night in that damned hut.

But at the same time, I needed to vent my frustrations to somebody. (Preferably to Maui, but hell if I know how to contact him.)

I pretended to be asleep and waited for the others to retire to their mats, and when Rayne's freakish sleep-snorts assaulted the air and no one reached over to smack her awake - a sure sign that they were all passed out - I made like a tightly-coiled box spring and bounced out.

The only other person I have at my disposal, aside from Maui and Maluhia, is Elaine. Because, while she is making exceptional progress with her recovery, there are moments in which she experiences moderate bouts of delirium. In these instances, I've learned that I can say whatever the hell I want, and she won't remember a thing when she comes to later. (I may or may not have expressed a few grievances, which, yeah, no, _personal_ \- you don't need to know the details.)

And yeah, maybe it's selfish of me to take advantage of her in such a state, but if you were me, what would you do? Keep it all inside? Let the anger, the apprehension, the frustration, bubble and boil over until your insides ached?

If I'm lucky, Elaine will be sleeping. Then I can vent all I want and still feel the comfort and assurance her presence gives me.

I round the _tunoa_ and come to a fork in the road. The left road deviates to the beach where the fishing boats reside. The right road leads to Ona's hut and the _fa'atoaga._ I take the right, lengthening my strides.

I'm at my whit's end. My skin radiates a feverish heat. The ends of my fingertips prickle, and my scalp itches. I'm this close to bursting, like a balloon pumped with too much air, or a marshmallow in a microwave, or Elaine's Louis Vuitton suitcase, or—

Someone is here.

I stop.

The soft golden-yellow candlelight peeks through the beaded curtain. A thin stream of incense smoke plumes into the air. I suppress my need to scream and curse - I thought Richard had gone to bed, but fuck, I guess not - and turn on my heel.

"So, you're finally going to see Te Fiti."

"Yes. Yes, I am."

I pause, however, at the sound of Elaine and Dad's voices. They speak in hushed tones, but in this deafening silence, they may as well be shouting. My thoughts tempt me with the notion of running off to some secluded corner of the island, where I can scream and pitch as many fits as my heart desires. But my gut beckons me to stay. ~~Eavesdrop~~ Listen to what they have to say.

I shuffle toward the hut and stuff myself into the shadows, pressing my back against the wall.

"This is what you've wanted for years," Elaine whispers, her words hoarse. "I'm so proud of you, Dad."

"Thank you, sweetheart. But..."

"What is it?"

"Agh...I don't know." Dad hums. I picture him tugging the roots of his mousy hair, or cleaning his glasses as he contemplates his next words. "I can't shake this...feeling...that maybe I'm doing something wrong here."

"...with McKenna?"

My breath hitches. I clench my fingers involuntarily around the watch, twisting my head and straining my ear to hear them better.

"I don't understand her," Dad exclaims, chagrined. "I take her out of school and drag her halfway across the world because I'm worried about her, and she hates me. I tell her she can't go with me to see Te Fiti - an island deity she knows nothing about, nor has she ever expressed any interest in - and she hates me. I just can't win with her."

"She's just stubborn. She gets it from Mom, you know."

"Oh, yeah. Ain't that the truth; those two were cut from the same cloth. If your mother was here, she'd be able to sort McKenna out." Dad chuckles. "They were always so close..."

"Daddy..."

A loon belts out from somewhere in the forest.

I hold my breath at the first onslaught of sniffles. A pang of something - regret? Guilt? Shame? - punctures my sternum. My eyes burn, but the tears refuse to fall.

"She needs her mother, Elaine. Not me." Dad's sniffling worsens, but he clears his throat and attempts to resolve the iron in his voice. "I try and I try, but no matter what I say or what I do, I can't seem to get it right."

"Give her some time," Elaine coos. "She'll come around, I promise. Everything will be okay, Dad."

"You think so?"

"I _know_ so."

Elaine coddles Dad as he cries; and Dad murmurs over and over again how much he misses Mom, and how much he loves Elaine and I; and I close my eyes and rub my thumb over the glass plate of Dad's watch.

And we sit, divided but still connected, each of us letting some memory of Mom wash away all our troubles and fears.


	20. Codeine, Part One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys. I'm back. And I'm not gonna say much of anything cause I know y'all have been waiting. 
> 
> Thanks for your patience. I hope you enjoy this chapter. I'm kinda dippin' my toes back into the water with this one. It feels good to be back. 
> 
> McKenna's Playlist >> Now, Now:
> 
> The Pull  
> Prehistoric

**Milwaukee, Wisconsin**

**February 20, 2016**

We live in quite possibly one of the nicest houses in all of Milwaukee.

Set on the edge of a sub-par suburban neighborhood, where the grass is sickly green all around and the neighbors themselves are decent at best (a grade above "dick-hole"), is our home. Two stories high, with jerkin-gabled rooftops, and an expansive yard with a tall and powerful oak tree rooted at its very center - our house, truly a rare and marvelous sight to behold.

And, as if we weren't distinguished enough from our neighbors, our mother decided to go all out and paint our house orange - bold and very much in-your-face - with dusty gold for the wrap-around porch and house eaves, and white for the window trimmings.

Dad says it was a spontaneity thing - Mom never could get behind the concept of "conformity". Why live in a house that's the same off-set white or earth-tone brown or gray as the rest when you can live in a giant Starburst instead? Also, it was her favorite color; and Dad wouldn't have considered it otherwise had she not chosen to request the paint job on their anniversary.

There are three bedrooms and two bathrooms. The master suite is located on the first floor, and Elaine's and mine are on the second. When we first moved in, Elaine and I fought for weeks over which room would be ours: we both lusted after the larger bedroom because, _space_ , duh. Elaine needed space for her bookshelves, her CDs, her vinyl records, et cetera. I just wanted the bigger room, for once.

In the end, Elaine got the bigger room, because _of course_ she did, and I got the room facing the street. I hated it at first: the floorboards yowled and splintered when you stepped on them, the door didn't shut all the way, the ceiling slanted, and the walls were painted this God-awful pink color. It looked like two giant peeps brutally murdered each other here - it was _horrendous_. I must have slept out in the media room for, oh, two months or so, to avoid making myself sick from having to look at it.

I've long since repainted my room with a nice, visually pleasing Elder White, but in some areas, like the wall behind the closest door, you can still see some pink bleeding through.

Over time, I came to love my room. I spruced it up a bit with my posters of the Arctic Monkeys and The Smiths, and other lesser-known indie bands/artists, such as Now, Now, Låpsley, Margot and the Nuclear So & So's, Amarante, and so on. I also put up that canvas print of the world that Elaine bought me several Christmases ago, pictures detailing mine and Cynthia's escapades - that one drunken trip we took with her older brother, Marshal, and his SO to the Fiberglass Mold Graveyard in Sparta - and a dream catcher I found at a flea market.

And I strung up some lights. Lights are a definite must for me. I can't even tell you why.

Oh, and how could I forget the best feature: the balcony? Why I prioritized square footage over a _balcony_ , I will never know.

On nights like tonight, when the sky is (semi-)clear and the bite in the air is bearable, I love to bunch myself up in one of my mothers' old cashmere sweaters and come out here to think. To get away from the noise: from the pitched, grinding whine of the blender; from Elaine's antique phonograph, running on an almost constant loop whenever she comes to visit; and, of course, from the fighting.

I'd hoped - foolishly - that Dad and Elaine would have patched things up since their argument at the museum, but by the sound of it, things have only devolved. Not only is Elaine still adamant about having her wedding in Bora Bora - that won't change - but now she's demanding that I quit my job at the museum so I can start preparing for college.

I don't even know how _I_ became a part of the conversation. And, frankly, I don't really care. I don't care about my job; I don't care about school; I don't care much about anything. I just want the fighting to _stop_.

Elaine and Dad bicker over a lot of mundane things, like any other father and daughter do: things like bills and groceries and impulse-buys (Elaine with her vinyls, Dad with his anthropology documentaries/books); but very rarely do they _fight_. The closest they ever came to having one was after they found out about Dominic and me - how he was covering up for me, keeping quiet about my sneaking out and the parties. How he was, quote-end-quote, _involved_ with me. (Newsflash: he wasn't because he's married, but it's not to say I didn't dream about it.)

Elaine argued that I wasn't getting enough attention from Dad; Dad argued that Elaine wasn't including me in her circle of friends. They stayed up half the night tossing insults and blaming one another for _my_ behavior - and neither of them were even the slightest bit accurate in their standings.

But this...this is just ridiculous. And infuriating.

Dad's voice mounts to a crescendo for the fifth - sixth? - time tonight. Elaine must have smarted off again. I catch only the best bits through the closed glass doors, "I don't appreciate...condescending and arrogant...can figure out the funds on your own!" To which Elaine shrieks, something garbled and hysterical, and after a beat of silence, I hear the loud stomping of her feet on the stairs. Her door is yanked open and slammed immediately shut. I don't breathe a sigh of relief yet because it isn't over: she tears apart her room for a good minute or two, then yanks the door back open and flies down the stairs, shouting defiantly, "Here's your _fuckin' funds_!"

I yawn. My jaw pops.

I pick up my pack of cigarettes and open the lid. I've got two cigarettes left. I'll have to ask Cynthia to buy me some the next time she stops by the tobacco shop. With Dominic out of commission, and with me still on some sick form of probation - no license and no credit card, unless absolutely necessary - I have to rely on her for my nicotine fix. The brand she smokes is shit compared to the one Dominic smokes, but at this point, I'll take whatever I can get.

I work the lighter out of my back pocket - Dominic's lighter; he gave it to me as a secret gift on my fourteenth birthday - and light up one of the cigarettes. As I breathe in my first greedy breath, filling my lungs to max, my phone vibrates, skidding along the tables' surface. The picture I set for Cynthia's contact fills the screen: it's a fan-art drawing of Lola Bunny, dressed in a skimpy halter top that stops mid-breast and short-shorts, her middle finger extended toward the viewer.

Cynthia insisted I use this picture for her contact. ("Lola Bunny is, like, my idol," she said. "She's an icon. A sexy, bad-ass, anthropomorphic icon.")

I let the phone ring a few times, blowing smoke through parted lips and relishing in the calmness the nicotine provides me. Then, I answer.

"Hello?"

"Hey, are the freak-zillas still fighting?" Comes Cynthia's quick, winded response.

"Yeah..."

"Jeez, you sound depressed. When was the last time you went outside?"

I glance around. "I'm outside right now."

"Not on your _balcony_ , jack-ass, I meant _outside_ \- like, to a party?"

"You know I can't do that sort of thing anymore." I lean back in my chair. Focus my sights on the biggest, brightest ball of gas in the sky. "I'm grounded for life, remember?"

"Ugh, what the fuck ever. Parents are dumb. What you need, my friend, is some divine intervention."

I sneak another puff before saying, "No dice. It's a war zone downstairs. If I try to leave, it'll kick up a whole new shit storm."

Cynthia chortles. "Never fear, your ol' pal Cynthia is here!" There's a pause. "Literally. I'm here. Look down."

I sit forward in my chair and crane my neck to peer over the balcony rail. In the driveway, half-crouched behind Dad's four-runner, is Cynthia. She's clad all in black - black jeggings, black hoodie, black All-Stars - and her pale face and pale hair, white as summer corn, stick out like any sore something. She lifts a hand and waves.

I say, without hanging up the phone, "Why are you wearing all black?"

"Subterfuge, darling. If your old man sees me, there'll be Hell to pay. You _know_ he hates me."

"He doesn't _hate_ you." I peer over my shoulder as something crashes to the ground downstairs. A skillet or a pot or something. " _Loathe_ is a much better word, I think."

"Whatever. Now, get your ass down here. And be swift about it. I'm freezing my non-existent nuts off."

I pull one last time from my cigarette and snuff it out in the ashtray. I slip on my flats, tuck my phone between my shoulder and ear, and kick my legs over the rails. The roof doesn't slope as severely on this side of the house, but the shingles are lathered in a thin layer of ice; I slip 'n slide all the way across to the trellis.

"Where are we - _woah_..." I quickly latch onto the trellis before I can slip, hands gripping tight to the vines knotted around the ladder. The web of flesh between my thumb and forefinger slices open. I hiss. "Where are we going?"

"Raquel's party. She requested your presence - said she missed her beer pong buddy." I drop from the trellis and sneak around to the front of the house, ducking low beneath the porch. I'm close enough now that I can hear her without the phone. I hang up, and she balks. "Did you just fuckin' hang up on me?" She glares as she pockets her phone.

"She wants me to come over and play _beer pong_?" I ask. " _Really_?"

Cynthia lifts a shoulder. "It's a small party tonight. Zero adults, lots of alcohol...you forget that she lives in the most urban part of town. They don't have _shit_ to do cause it's so dangerous."

"But that's why we go, right?"

Cynthia grins devilishly. "That's _exactly_ why we fuckin' go."

~~~

The spaces in front of Raquel's house are all filled up. She lives in a duplex - in but one of the point three trillion in Milwaukee (hint: painfully obvious hyperbole) - but, compared to the other duplexes I've seen on our side of town, this duplex looks more like an old school house. It's smaller, too, and hasn't been repainted in years. The walls are a gross, zesty lemon yellow, chipped all to hell and rotted in several areas.

Raquel lives with her grandparents and three younger siblings. Her real parents are currently MIA. Have been going on thirteen years. According to Cynthia, Raquel is home alone this week; her family has gone out of state to accompany her youngest brother, who is one a competitive select baseball team.

Cynthia squeezes her Chevy between Dante's mammoth of a truck and a smart car that's practically mooching on the line. As I unbuckle my seat belt and reach for the door, she says, "Oh! I guess I should've warned you a bit earlier, but...Raquel's cousin is here."

My hand slips on the door handle, and the cut reopens.

" _What_?"

"Listen for a sec, okay? It was very last minute - apparently, he's got an apartment in the area now - and, you know, I told you how the two of them have started talking again." Cynthia smiles, but it comes across as a grimace. "Raquel says he's changed."

"My ass!" I fire back.

Coming from someone who strongly believes that people are capable of change, I know for a _fact_ that Raquel's cousin, Jamal, is one hundred percent _in_ capable of change. He's a no good, philandering, lazy, half-witted, sexist pig. His folks moved him and his brother out of state to God knows where six years ago - it was the single happiest day of my life, watching him pile into their car, looking despondent and miserable.

Jamal and I never got along. Ever. We were polar opposites: he was north, I was south; he was broiling summer, I was frigid winter; we repelled and repulsed each other. Couldn't tolerate being in the same room together. I did my best to avoid talking to him whenever possible, but for some reason, he had this persistent itch to torment me. If he wasn't yanking as viciously hard as he could on my ponytail, he was spitting paper balls at me; and if he wasn't spitting paper balls, he was slapping my ass and addressing me as the "Fugly Duckling".

One time, in elementary school, he snuck up behind me while I was doing show and tell in class and pulled down my skirt, exposing my underwear to the classroom. The teacher didn't say much of anything, even though I _knew_ she'd been tracking him the whole time. She thought it was funny, like everybody else. Hell, even _I_ would have laughed my ass off had it been _any_ body but me.

I'm not sure why Jamal singled me out as his victim, but one thing was for certain: I absolutely, positively, undoubtedly _loathed_ the guy. With a _passion_.

So, knowing that he's here, only a yard and a door away, instantly warms my blood and makes me livid - both at the memories, and at Cynthia for not telling me sooner.

I re-buckle my seat-belt. "Take me home. Now."

"Aw, come on, Kenny! Don't be like that. He wasn't _that_ big of a dick."

"To _you_ ," I snap. "He _idolized_ you. You were the kid everybody feared. Even _Joshua Buyers_ was afraid of you, and he was, like, the Top Dog of bullies in our district. Everything Jamal did to _me_ was to impress _you_. I'm sure of it."

"Naw," Cynthia says, flopping her hand, but a small grin of pride tweaks the corner of her mouth. "You're exaggerating."

"I'm not. Take me home."

"Jesus Christ, o- _kay_ ," she groans. "I'll take you home... _if_ -" _Saw that coming_. "-you promise to play at least _one_ game of beer pong with Raquel. That girl does not know how to handle them tiny balls - and I mean that both figuratively _and_ literally. Her losing streak is almost as long as your winning streak. The last thing we need is for her to get alcohol poisoning and, like, die or something."

_All of this over a fucking..._

"Cynthia-"

She claps a hand over my mouth. "I already told Raquel we were here. So, even if you wanted to..."

Either this shit was rehearsed or it's a crazy coincidence, because at the exact moment she says this, there's a frantic tapping on my window. I snake my head back, heart lodged in my throat. Raquel, beaming wide, lips smattered in matte black and cheeks dusted a glittery rose gold, waggles her fingers.

"You can't say no."

I scream, defeated, into the skin of Cynthia's palm. She snickers and removes her hand to crank the window down.

I fix her with a pointed glare and whisper, "You owe me a months' worth of cigarettes."

"Consider it done."

"Hi, hi, omigawsh," Raquel chitters as soon as the window is rolled down, in a delicate, petite voice. Everything about her is petite: petite hands, petite face, petite body, et cetera, you get the picture. She's twenty-seven years old, stuck in the body of a preteen girl. No boobs, hardly any curve in her butt - and yet, somehow, all the guys worth having go nuts over her. Maybe it's her innocence. I don't know. "Ken-Ken, I missed you soooo much!" She throws an arm through the window and loops it around my neck, yanking me toward her.

"Hello, Raquel. I told you not to call me that."

"Ah, right, I'm sorry - I forgot. I just, I got so excited!" She pulls back and bunches the collar of her jacket. She hops up and down on the balls of her feet. "Well, come on, you two! It's friggin' freezing out here. Jamal started a fire for us - you remember Jamal, don't you, Kenny?"

" _Unfortunately_ ," I murmur, kicking open the door. The frozen ground crunches under my flats. Cynthia and I shamble after Raquel, eagerly throwing ourselves through the open front door, which oozes a heat so radiating it creates a faint mist when exposed to the night air.

The inside of Raquel's house smells like pumpkin spice and cigarette smoke. The walls are covered in an old, stained silver Victorian-era damask wallpaper; of the many paintings hung, not a single one contains her parents: just herself, her siblings, and her grandparents. The floor squeaks and groans as we walk.

"Come on," Raquel waves for us to follow. "Everyone's in the game room. We've already got the game set up. It's going to be me and McKenna versus Dante and Jamal."

_Of course._

I pause at the door leading into the game room. "Hey, Raquel, I'm gonna use the bathroom real quick."

"Okay!" She says. "Hurry up, though. Dante's been flapping his gums all night, saying that he's gonna run us under the table. I _refuse_ to lose to him again."

I duck my head as she swings open the door, moving swiftly, blanketing myself in the dark. I get a pretty good view of the room before the door shuts: I see Dante kicked back in Raquels' grandfathers' recliner, with a tub of tobacco resting on his kneecap and a spit cup in his hand; I see Eli, Raquel's current boyfriend, filling the cups on the ping-pong table with various drinks - tequila, whiskey, Fireball, you name it; but I don't see Jamal.

Maybe he left?

_No, I highly doubt that. Raquel said he's playing the game with us, remember?_

I continue down the hallway until I reach the bathroom. The cut on my hand isn't bleeding anymore, but it stings like a bitch. Some hydrogen peroxide and a band-aid should help with that. I fumble in the dark for a moment before I find the light switch-

"Ah, shit!" Someone hisses.

I shriek and dance backwards, hand flying to my chest. Sitting on the closed toilet seat, holding a small hand-blown glass bong and a lighter, is a man, wearing a beanie, a gray V-neck sweater and denim jeans. He stands quickly, face pale - as if I caught him doing something much worse than smoking weed, like, killing someone, for example. His shoulders are broad and his hips are narrow - definitely a swimmers' body. He blinks rapidly, clearing the weed-induced fog as he waits for his eyes to adjust to the light. When he opens them fully, the strangest sense of Déjà vu washes over me.

I know those eyes - what I can make of them, anyway, since his pupils are blown - golden brown.

I squint. Fear ramps up the speed of my heart.

I open my mouth.

"McKenna Blaine?" He asks, beating me to it.

And with those two words, it clicks. It's the same eyes, the same voice - a touch coarser, maybe - just in a different body. A grown, well-developed body. ~~_Very_ well developed.~~

He takes a step forward. He's taller than me now, by a lot; in elementary school, it was _I_ who towered over him. (Not like it gave me any real advantage over him, anyway.)

"McKenna Blaine," he says my name again. The air whooshes out of me. I think I whimper. His eyes sweep over my figure, slowly, and he smiles. And it's the same: straight, pearly whites, with his lip quirked higher on the right than the left and a single dimple gracing the right corner. "Wow. You look... _wow_. It is so damn good to see you again."

"Jama-"

And before I can finish saying his name, he sets the bong and the lighter on the counter, takes my face in his hands, and kisses me.


	21. The Plan

" _Mumua itiiti. Wake up_."

My eyelids pry apart immediately. My pulse spikes as, for the faintest of seconds, the smell of coconut milk tickles my nostrils, and my eyes, bleary from sleep, try to convince me that the person crouching in front of me is my mother. A hopeful dream, manifest.

I squeeze my eyes shut. Open them.

Maluhia, the skin of her left face partly illuminated in dawning blue, slides her hand from my shoulder to my face. She pats my cheek a few times, as if rousing me gently from a drunken stupor.

"What are you doing out here?" She whispers.

I glance around...well. _Try_ to glance around. Cranking my neck in any particular direction stings like a Mother Hubbard, bad enough to draw tears. I groan and lean forward, a chain of pops rippling down my spine to my tailbone. My shoulders are stiff, and my butt is completely dead.

It's early morning, close to 5:00am if I had to guess, and I'm still sitting outside Ona's hut. I must have fallen asleep last night waiting for Dad to leave. Weird. I don't even remember closing my eyes. The last thing I remember is listening to Dad and Elaine make idle chit-chat about Maluhia - about Dad's not-so-secret _fascination_ towards her - and giggling quietly into my wrist as he blundered his denial, and then... _this_.

"I..." I massage the nape of my neck. It does little to appease the sting; if anything, it makes it worse. "I was waiting...for my Dad to leave, so I could talk to Elaine. I must've... _Jesus_..." I wince as my neck pops. It's so loud that Maluhia grimaces. "...I must've fallen asleep."

"Here," Maluhia says, offering her hands. "Let me help you up."

Grabbing onto her forearms, I let her aid me to my feet. My spine protests with a flurry of spasms and another loud pop. The backs of my thighs tingle; fiery pins-and-needles that thread into my lower back. I have to lean on Maluhia while I shake out my unsteady, newborn Bambi legs.

"I stopped by the _fale_ to retrieve you, but you weren't there." I ease off of Maluhia's shoulder and take a step forward. She ghosts a hand about my waist in case I need assistance. "I...I feared that something had happened to you. I feared that, after hearing the verdict of our meeting from your father, that you'd..." I pivot my body to face her. Bottom lip pinched between her teeth, she shakes her head. "Never mind. I don't know what I was thinking. I found you. That's all that matters."

"Why did you agree to it?" I ask. "You have more authority over my old man - _none_ of this would even be possible without you - so, why?"

Maluhia sucks in a slow breath. "I had no choice. Since the birth of our civilization, our counsel has centered itself around _'aiga_ \- family. We do what is best for the community as a whole by prioritizing the safety and security of our family units _first_. For every decision we make, for every new course of action we choose to follow, we take every preemptive measure to ensure our families' survival. And for valued guests such as yourselves, we treat it no differently. We _had_ to take into consideration the dangers that you and Elaine would face out there. I _had_ to vote against it."

"Dad _did_ say something about the waters around Te Fiti being dangerous...what's _that_ all about?"

"I will explain everything..." Maluhia sweeps the area, eyes darkening. "But not here. In my hut."

Five minutes later, we tromp up the steep hillside leading to Maluhia's hut. She keeps quiet, glancing nervously over her shoulder every five to ten seconds, and when we enter the hut, she draws every raised _kapa_ cloth. Drapes us completely in darkness. I question her, but she hisses a brief, "Shh," and peers out from a gap in one of the cloths.

Instead of fumbling about like an idiot, I purse my lips together and wait for her to give me the A-Okay. And for a long time, the only sound is that of the wind. A faint whistle, and nothing more.

It doesn't take long. Two minutes, tops. My singed nerves, having been ignited and promptly stomped out one too many times in recent days, barely have enough time to start coiling against the flaring heat of my impatience when the cloth opens with a _whuff_. A hulking square head, all too familiar by now, peers in.

"Good morning, Maluhia," Maui whispers, ever the jovial sort. "You look amazing, as usual. A little sleep deprived, maybe."

Maluhia ignores him and cuts straight to the point. "Were we followed?"

"Negatory, Sarge," he replies, donning a stern expression and offering her a mock salute.

"Good," she says, lifting her eyes to the ceiling in annoyance. But a tender smile graces her lips, and after a beat she reaches up on her toes and tousles his hair.

The vibe these two give off is warm and familial: There's a great deal of affection between them; an intimacy that speaks of years of trust and reliance. But...there's also this hidden sadness. An unspoken tension, not too permeable but just enough for even the slowest of all the slow people - and yes, that includes _Rayne_ \- to notice.

It's... _there_. In the ever-so-slight lilt of Maui's brow.

And there, in the way his eyes soften when he looks at her. As if she were both his best friend in the whole world, and an old demon.

The "why" of the situation occurs to me immediately: The story Maluhia told me, about Moana.

She was Maui's _best friend_. His first _real_ friend, I'm sure. Someone he loved and admired and depended on. And if what I've heard in-passing from some of the villagers is true, Maluhia is the spit-image of Moana, save a few minute details, such as a rounder face and a smaller, button-like nose - and even _that_ , I have also heard, is a stretch. So, for Maui, I imagine it must be like conversing with a ghost.

I mean, I'm sure he views Maluhia as her own person, _obviously_. But at times, I imagine it must be easy to forget. Every now and then, caught up in a heated moment or reveling in the throes of his excitement, he probably slips up: Addresses her non-verbally (or verbally, who can say?) as Moana, only to be reminded of the fact that this person is _not_ Moana. 

It's a bit sobering when you think about it. And it makes me want to wrap him up in a big ol' hug and squeeze the sadness out.

"Frowny," Maui greets me, tugging me free of my wandering thoughts. He holds up his hand in a shy wave. "Uhm...good morning. How'd, ugh, how'd you sleep?"

At first, I can't understand why he's so nervous. Then the memory of him chucking me out of the thicket like a football resurfaces. The corners of my lips turn downward. I cross my arms and harrumph, looking anywhere but at him. Which, you know, is just plain old _darkness_.

"Fine, I suppose," I grumble. Detached. Aloof. "I probably would've slept _better_ if I weren't so damn _sore_ from when you threw me out in front of Rayne and Abdul." I'm lying, of course, and I _am_ sore, but for an entirely different reason. But Maui doesn't need to know that.

"I...sorry." Maui ducks his head. In this lighting, it's hard for me to tell if he's pale or flushed, smirking or frowning, Expressing guilt, or warding off a satisfied smile. "I admit, that wasn't my brightest idea. But if I hadn't done it, I would've been discovered."

"So? It's just Rayne and Abdul. You met them before...on _your island_."

"That was different. We were on _my_ island. We're on Motunui now."

"What does that-"

"I'm not exactly... _popular_ here, anymore," Maui confesses. Maluhia coos softly from somewhere in the hut; that somewhere being right behind us, as a soft orange glow fills the hut, pinning my shadow, large and menacing, to the wall. I can see Maui's face now, sculpted and shadowed. He's...definitely guilty, that's for sure. But not for the "throwing me out of the thicket" bit. "If word gets out that I'm back in the neighborhood, all Hell is sure to break loose." He shudders.

"We've been over this, Maui," Maluhia says, moving on to the next candle. Bare feet padding softly over wood flooring. "The people have _long_ forgiven you. You don't need to remain in this...state of _exile_ anymore."

Maui shrugs. "Yee-ah, I dunno..."

"What'd you do that was so bad you had to be exiled?" I ask.

Maluhia steps forward, extinguishing the lit match with a quick shake. She's shaking her head and clicking her tongue. "I mean that figuratively. He wasn't _exiled_ , or _banished_ , or anything of the sort. It was all self-imposed."

"You weren't there," Maui snaps. "You didn't see the way they looked at me...the disappointment...the hatred...the _fear_ in those kids' eyes..."

"Oh, please. It was _thousands_ of years ago! Get over it, will you? Everyone and their grandmother that was _there_ at the time has already passed."

I shuffle toward the cloth of Maui, dimly cast in candlelight, and pick at one of the loose threads. I try to envision the Maui I know as the guy on the cloth - teeth bared, lips twisted up in a maniacal smirk - this gigantic, hulking brute. A _terror_ of many young childrens' nightmares.

It's just...laughable.

"So, what happened?" I ask.

Maluhia crosses her arms and turns to me. "Three thousand years ago - in Moana's time-" I note the hesitance in her voice as she speaks of her ancestor. "-Maui took it upon himself to hunt down Sione and the scrolls. You recall me telling you this, do you not?" I do. "Apparently, it didn't end well. I wouldn't know." She rounds her shoulders and glares pointedly at Maui. "Someone refuses to tell me the full story."

Maui says, "As far as I'm concerned, there _is_ no story to tell. Tamatoa and I couldn't find the scrolls, and we ran into a bit of trouble along the way. That's it - _end of story_. Can we skip ahead to you explaining why we're all here now?"

"Tamatoa?" I raise my chin. "Tamatoa, as in the giant crab monster from that monster realm place...what was it called? Lalo...Lolli..."

" _Lalotai_ ," Maui answers through gritted teeth. He cranks his head in Maluhia's direction. "You didn't have to tell her the _entire_ story," he hisses. "In the grand scheme of things, Tamatoa and the Realm of Monsters are accessory details. _Completely unnecessary_."

I snicker. Catch Maluhia's knowing grin. "Well," I say, " _I_ thoroughly enjoyed every bit of it. _Especially_ the part where The Ocean stuck a poison-tipped blow-dart in your butt-cheek." Maui's jaw drops. I pretend to feign surprise as I add, "Oh! And how could I forget? _Y_ _ou're welcome~_." I sing the words in as deep a voice as I can manage. Maui's face crumples. "A bit self-aggrandizing, but _very_ catchy. I didn't know you could sing, Maui. You'll have to reenact it for me sometime." And to garnish my victory, I give him a little wink. 

He puckers his lips, his face darkening in rage and humiliation. He stomps across the fale toward Maluhia, who is doubled over laughing and wiping tears from her eyes. " _You told her about that_?!" He shrieks. Fists clenched. Back rigid. He looks like a seriously PO'd kitty-cat. "You promised me that you wouldn't speak a _word_ of it to her."

" _I_ didn't promise anything. I said I would _consider_ it. There's a difference." Maluhia pats his bicep. "Besides, Lalotai wasn't ' _completely_ _unnecessary_ ', and neither was the blow-dart thing: If it weren't for The Ocean's quick thinking, you would've never taught Moana to Way-find. It was a critical plot device. Now, the song... _that_ was for grins and giggles.

"But it doesn't matter now," Maluhia continues before Maui can retaliate. "What I did or did not tell her is no longer of any consequence. She knows what happened - knows who Moana was, what The Ocean is - now it's time to get serious. We've got work to do; I promised Henri that I would gather a small fleet in two weeks time."

"'Henri'?" Maui scoffs. "Since when have you and the anthropology nut become so cozy?"

I sneak in beside Maui - give him a pinch for that quip about Dad - and bat my eyes imploringly at Maluhia. Her cheeks darken. She bounces her gaze from Maui to me, and back again. "That - that is _so_ not important right now." She steps forward and grabs my hand, tugging me away from Maui. She whispers in my ear, breathless and quick," _Nothing_ is going on between me and your father, it's - it's all a misunderstanding."

"Uh huh, yeah, sure." I roll my eyes.

Maluhia clears her throat. "Anyway! The reason why we're all here." She inhales deeply. "First of all, McKenna-" she faces me, demeanor shifting on a dime from embarrassed to serious. "-you are not aware of this because I did not speak of it before. The reason why the waters surrounding Te Fiti are so dangerous is because they are churning with monsters from Lalotai."

I swallow hard.

 _And here I thought we had, like,_ sharks _and_ storms _to worry about. Now we've got_ monsters _._

"Ever since Dominic's grandfather...well, ever since his visit to the island, Te Fiti has grown weaker and weaker still. She is doing her best to keep the monsters out and the barrier surrounding her fortified, but with each passing day the monsters grow stronger. More and more just keep pouring out of the Realm of Monsters."

"Greedy little bastards, all of them," Maui spits. "Attacking a goddess who can't even fight back..." He cracks his knuckles. "I cannot _wait_ to get my hands on them."

"They want Te Fiti's Heart," Maluhia says. "You should know by now how prized and valuable it is."

I nod. "Valuable enough for folks from every walk, county and continent to come racing thousands of miles to the middle of nowhere."

"That's right. Our plan, rough as it may be, is to assemble a small band of Etu's warriors and sail out to Te Fiti. There's an opening in the barrier, one we could easily pass through so long as we aren't spotted by monsters. Maui will serve as our front line of defense, should we come under attack."

My head whips toward Maui. He puffs his chest and wiggles his fingers. A hollow pit forms in my stomach at the thought of Maui tackling an entire horde of monsters by his lonesome. The thought of him going up against creatures ten times his size - maybe even larger than that - the lot of them beastly and ugly and enraged, with mouths full of razor-sharp teeth, and claws akin to broadswords, and-

I shake my head.

Maui's a big dude, and if he weren't capable of fighting, he obviously wouldn't be their front line of defense. And he doesn't seem perturbed by the idea: If anything, he's eager. Excited.

Still doesn't stop the thoughts from rubbing me raw.

"O- _kay_ ," I say. "Seems pretty good to me. But...what's _my_ purpose here?" Maui and Maluhia are both quick to open their mouths, their voices intermingling as they rehash things they've already told me. I throw up my hands. "No, no - hold up, jeezums. I _know_ what my purpose is, guys. Y'all practically _spelled_ it out for me. That's not what I meant."

Maui arches a brow. "Then...what _did_ you mean?"

"Well, I think it's pretty obvious, don't you? My father said I can't go. And in order to save Te Fiti, don't I kind of have to _be_ there?"

The two look at each other. Maluhia lifts a shoulder, and Maui nods. Maluhia retakes my hands, thumbs massaging my knuckles, and stares me dead in the eye.

"I need you to listen very carefully to what I'm about to say," she says. My gut cramps uneasily. I peek over the crown of her head at Maui. His lips are pressed in a terse line, but there's encouragement in his eyes. He dips his chin. "It's true that you can't go to the island with us," Maluhia continues. "I wish I'd had more time to negotiate with your father, but he was very adamant with his decision, and I _had_ to follow the rules of our counsel. For that, I apologize. But you can still get to the island."

"How?" I wonder. "What, am I gonna sail on The Oceans' nubby little head like a magic carpet?"

Maluhia snorts. "Not quite. But close. You _are_ going to sail."

_...excuse moi?_

"You have already proven your worth by accepting to help Te Fiti, but now you are going to have to prove your valor. And the only possible way to do that is to Way-find." Maluhia hooks an arm around my shoulder and turns me toward one of the _kapa_ cloths. Embroidered on the cloth is a canoe, perched on the crest of a tall wave. "Starting today, _Maui_ will be your teacher. You will learn to Way-find in the two weeks before our departure. Once the day comes to leave, you will set out behind us; Maui will keep watch over you."

I sputter, "Hold...hold up."

"And The Ocean will be with you as well. Should you find yourself in need, It will aid you."

"Maluhia-"

"Maui is the best trainer I know. He'll have you sailing in less than a week, I guarantee it. We'll also stock you with plenty of ginger root so you don't get queasy."

"But I-"

"And in the meantime," Maluhia trucks on, ignoring my protests, "you will work alongside me to...unlock your gift."

I wrench out of her hands. "Jesus, Maluhia, would you fuckin' listen to me for a _hot second_?! Are you out of your-" I pause. "Wait. 'Gift'? What do you mean, 'unlock my gift', what ' _gift_ '?"

This time, Maui speaks up. "You may wanna sit down for this."

The last time Maui advised me to do something, I refused to abide and ended up comatose for two days. Needless to say, I'm quick to plop down on the floor, arms locked tightly around my knees. Maui chuckles.

Maluhia kneels before me, a soft smile on her face. "Your gift," she whispers, "is the sole reason why _you_ were the one chosen to take on this mission. Inside of you is a power which has laid dormant since the day you were born. It is my job to help you unlock it. Master it."

I hold up my hands. "So, like..." I swallow. "Are you saying that I'm, like, a wizard?"

 _More importantly, I can_ finally _get into Hogwarts?! It's a dream come true!_

Maluhia giggles. "If that's what you want to call it, then sure. Starting today, you will meet with me every morning, from dawn until noon, and your evenings will be spent training with Maui." Maluhia cups my cheek. "Whatever worries or anxieties are plaguing you right now - fuck them. Kick them aside. Spit on them. I...I know I've put a lot of pressure on you; it was never my intention to burden you with so many things at once.

"But, McKenna," she says, "you are _so_ much stronger than you realize, and braver, too. There is not a soul in the world that can do the things that you are destined to do; accomplish the things only _you_ are meant to accomplish. Have faith in yourself. We do." She gestures to Maui, who now stands at her shoulder, bobbing his head up and down in agreement.

I take a moment to soak the both of them in: Their presence, their determination, their faith in me. It's all so...overwhelming. And it fills something inside of me - something that has been empty for a long, long time.

It no longer matters how much I hate boats, or how scared I am at the prospect of sailing one of those wooden monstrosities: With these two at my side, I feel like I really _can_ do anything. For the first time in my life, _everything_...makes sense.

Which is strange, considering that my life has become filled with sentient water nubs and IRL Polynesian mythological demi-gods and goddesses - and _now_ , magic.

If that doesn't scream "sanity," than I don't know what does.

I stand to my feet, the tip of my nose burning, a smile of gratitude carving a path across my lips. I clap my hands together and say, with an air of confidence, "All right, then. Let's get to work."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh? What's that? You didn't think there'd be magic here? 
> 
> Lol. <3


End file.
